


Fic: Magnetism

by Queenie_Mab



Series: Mab's Harry/Draco fics [23]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adaptation, Anal Sex, Bad Poetry, Bets, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry, Chaptered, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Illustrated, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Rimming, Veritaserum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-28
Updated: 2010-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-05 01:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/400743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenie_Mab/pseuds/Queenie_Mab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Muggle Romance Novelist Draco Malfoy is exiled in the Muggle world after the war, but as fate would have it, the chemistry between him and Harry Potter draws them together, no matter how much Draco resists.</p><p>Adapted from the manga/anime, Gravitation by Maki Murakami</p><p><b>Disclaimer:</b> All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.<br/>Illustration in Chapter Three done as a commission by starsailor_13</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy stared blindly at his laptop. His latest novel lay open and unfinished with its release date mere months away. The house was dark save for the glowing screen of his laptop. He sat at the dining room table of his small bungalow at three o'clock in the morning, lighting another cigarette and re-reading the last line he had written.

>   
>  _Her thighs quivered in anticipation as he ran his fingers through her hair, nibbling lightly on her earlobe._   
> 

Crap, it was all crap, he'd much rather be writing homosexual romance, but the market for it wasn't as big and his mother would have a heart attack. Draco sighed and closed the document and put out his cigarette. He really needed to get laid, but the very idea of leaving the house and finding a decent partner made him shudder. He'd turned into a bit of a recluse since he'd retreated into the Muggle world, but he convinced himself that it was better for everyone if he just disappeared from the wizarding world. He shut the laptop. He'd try to write some more after sleeping.

Three hours later, the doorbell rang. Draco dragged himself into his pyjama bottoms and stumbled to the front door. He yanked it open and looked out into the blinding sunlight, squinting his eyes. It was his editor, Laura Barr, dressed in a sharp business suit, her long red curls hanging in ringlets about her face. "What do you want?" Draco demanded. "Can't you see I'm working on it?"

"Francis, I've brought the galley proofs for the first half of the novel for you to look over, but you _have_ to finish the story. I'm worried about you. Do you have writer's block? Do you need me to get you an assistant?" she asked, worry lines marring her forehead and making her pretty young face look older.

"No!" Draco shouted through his groggy state. He walked into the kitchen to grab a beer and opened it, taking a long swig. "I don't need an assistant! Just give me one more week and I'll have the draft finished!" he said, coming back out to the dining room and meeting Laura where she stood at the end of the table.

"There's no need to shout," Laura said, folding her arms and tapping her long, red, painted nails against them. "Just get the story written."

Draco lit a cigarette and blew the smoke in Laura's face. She stepped back, coughing. "Must you smoke those things in the house?" she asked, exasperated, shooing the smoke away with her hands.

"It's my house," said Draco. "I'll smoke where I please. If you don't mind buggering off, I'll get right on it and finish the novel, all right? Just leave the proofs on the table and I'll look them over once I've finished writing. Everything will turn out all right."

Laura set the sheaf of papers on the table and stepped away. "Very well, Francis. Just be sure you do what you say you'll do. I'll be in touch."

She left and Draco drained his beer and put out his cigarette, grinding it down into the tray as if he were viciously smashing a bug.

The image came unbidden into his mind: grinding bones and ripping meat, a pool of blood soaking the carpet, growing ever-larger around the cracked skull.

He shuddered and clasped his chest, feeling like his heart was squeezed and heavy. The panic in his body opened all his pores and he became diaphoretic, sweat pouring out of every pore, drenching his skin. His vision tunnelled and sparks began to swirl around the edges.

Draco fell to his knees, clutching at a chair for support and holding his chest as if to keep his heart from jumping out of it. It felt as if his empty stomach was tying itself up in knots and trying to force its way up his throat.

He coughed a few times, swallowing hard. He rose on shaky legs and managed to reach his bed before collapsing and passing out.

~*~

Harry Potter flew against the bitter wind of January, searching for the ever-elusive Snitch through the sleet. His face burned and his fingers froze through his gloves, glued to his broomstick.

The Falcons were ahead by seventy points. Harry had to find the Snitch and soon if he was ever to get out of that weather and back to the warmth of the Quidditch changing room and his half-read novel, _Lover_ , by Francis McDougall.

He just couldn't get the major love scene out of his mind, and was distracted wondering how McDougall would pull all of the plot strings together at the end. Ever since he'd discovered one of McDougall's novels in the bathroom at Ginny's house, he couldn't get enough of them. He bought them all in their first edition and spent his free time reading and working on his secret passion: poetry.

It was by accident that he spotted the Snitch lazily circling the bottom of the Falcons' goal post. He made a wild dive, the Falcons' seeker hot on his tail, and he closed his hand around it, crushing the golden wings. He pulled up inches from the frozen ground, holding his fist aloft and listened to the cheering from the stands as he made his way back to Puddlemere's side of the field to be congratulated by his teammates.

During the post-game party at Keeper Oliver Wood's house, Harry hid in the guest bedroom, curled up in a chair by the window, reading one of the hottest scenes he'd ever read. Francis McDougall had a way with words that made him envious. He pulled out his half finished poem and scanned it, wondering what McDougall would think of it.

Oliver knocked on the door and Harry stuffed the parchment back in his pocket. He turned to look at Oliver standing in the painted white doorway, leaning against the jamb with his arms folded.

"Mate, you in here?" Oliver asked.

"Yeah, I was just reading," said Harry.

"Everybody's looking for you," said Oliver, coming into the room and taking a seat upon the bed with its floral duvet. "You really pulled off a great game today. I think we just might have a chance at the World Cup next year."

"Oliver, I'm not sure I'll be playing next year." Harry said, looking down at the book in his lap and thinking of writing poetry. "I kind of want to try my hand at something else."

"Like what?" Oliver asked, studying Harry's downcast face. "Don't tell me you're reading that romance crap again. Harry, that's a girl's book."

"Leave me alone, Oliver. I'll read what I want to read. Francis McDougall is a genius. He's got a new book coming out next month," Harry said excitedly, finally looking up to meet Wood's eye with a bright smile on his face.

"Harry, I don't care," Oliver said, shrugging his shoulders and standing up. "Just come out and do your duty to the team. You can read once the party's over."

"Fine," Harry said, stowing his book in his robes pocket. He sighed and rejoined the party.

As he mingled through the crowd, the love scene from his book kept coming back to him and he felt there was something just wrong about it. Many young witches kept approaching him, looking to date the famous Harry Potter, and Harry had had about enough of it. He weaselled his way through the group of girls and wound up standing alone at the drinks table. The more he thought about McDougall's book, the more he felt that the two male characters had more chemistry between them and would have made a better couple.

Shocked at the realisation that he would prefer a gay romance, Harry found the next girl that approached him and took her home, to prove to himself that he wasn't going poofy. Unfortunately for him, the Polyjuice the girl had worn wore off during their foreplay, and soon Harry had a mouthful of Zacharias Smith's tongue.

"Oomph!" Harry grunted, pushing Smith away. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Come on, Potter," Smith cajoled. "You were liking it just fine a minute ago."

"Yeah, that was before I knew it was you."

"Is it because I'm a guy?" Smith demanded. "I've seen the way you look at Wood. Don't deny it. I have Polyjuice and a couple of his hairs in my pocket. Ever think about exploring that forbidden fantasy of yours?"

"No, it's just… you're a good chaser and all, but I don't really like you like that. You're a bit of a prat."

"Harry, I've wanted you since we were in school," Smith said leaning forward again on the bed and covering Harry with his body. "Look at this; you're still hard. Just close your eyes and pretend I'm somebody else, or we could play seeker and keeper. Say the word and I'll turn into Oliver for you."

If only he would turn into Francis McDougall. Nobody knew what McDougall looked like. He was a very quiet novelist. Harry had scanned all sorts of literary journals, looking for interviews from him, but all that he found was that McDougall refused to give interviews.

He realised while his thoughts had been occupied by his hero novelist, Zacharias Smith had wasted no time divesting himself of his short skirt and poofy blouse. He stood at the foot of Harry's bed, stroking himself and teasing his nipples and Harry felt his cock twitch. Smith was really good-looking, but such a prat; he'd never thought of him in a sexual way before. He wasn't sure what sex with a bloke would be like, but as Smith looked at him with pupil-blown blue eyes, he realised that he really wanted to find out.

"All right, but only for tonight," Harry said, scarcely believing the words as they came out of his mouth.

Smith pounced and once more covered Harry with his body, pulling at his trousers and pants and freeing Harry's weeping erection. He closed his mouth around it and Harry wondered why he'd made such a fuss over Smith being a bloke. He felt incredible with his cock enclosed in Smith's hot, sucking mouth. When Smith began to toy with his entrance, Harry decided that yes, indeed, he was gay or at least bi.

He felt a bit guilty for altering Smith's memory of the night, but the last thing he needed was a gay scandal. He left Smith at his own house and walked the streets, in the early light of morning, moving towards Grimmauld Place, his nose in his book.

He decided that morning, after several shots of Ogden's Old, that he would look up his hero novelist. After all, Francis McDougall would be the celebrity in the Muggle world, and Harry wouldn't have to worry about his own fame getting in the way. He just felt a connection to McDougall that he couldn't deny.

After a shower, he fell to bed, dreaming dreams of faceless men, all carrying McDougall's name.

~*~

"Mother, how many times do I have to tell you, I'm not coming home. The wizarding world hates former Death Eaters. I have a respectable job here in the Muggle world."

"But really," said Narcissa from the kitchen fireplace. "A common novelist. I didn't raise you to associate with Muggles and their world."

"I know that, Mother," Draco said, rubbing his tired eyes. "Look, I've got a deadline, so I really must go."

"Did you hear that Puddlemere's looking for a new seeker?" Narcissa said hopefully. "It seems our Harry Potter has quit the position."

"Mother, I don't give a damn about Potter or Quidditch. I'm perfectly happy with my quiet life away from the golden boy and his fame. Please leave me alone about it."

"Very well, Draco. But I expect you for tea on Sunday. One day out of the week at home will not kill you. Minister Zabini will be attending."

"Yes, Mother. I'll be there," said Draco, a scowl plastered on his face. "I still can't believe Blaise spearheaded the Death Eater reform group. That's the only reason he was voted after Shacklebolt's assassination."

"We change with the times, Draco. I do wish you follow his example."

The doorbell rang. "I must go. There's the bell."

"Take care, Draco," said Narcissa sadly.

Draco left the kitchen to get the door. The only people who ever called were his editor and the postman.

"Here you are, Mr. McDougall," said Bert, the postman. "You've got a fair few this time."

"Thank you," said Draco. "I'll just have them."

Bert passed Draco a sack of letters.

"Do you have any post I can take for you?" Bert asked cheerfully.

"Not today, thank you," Draco said and closed the door in the poor man's face. He dumped the sack out in front of the fireplace in the lounge and one by one, fed the letters to the fire.

The last letter though, had no postmark, nor was it addressed. Draco opened it, wondering if his editor had sent it through. He read:

> Dear, Mr. McDougall,

> My name is Harry Potter, and I am a big fan of yours. I wanted to let you know that your last book, _Lover_ , inspired me to write a poem. I would love to know what you think of it and I fondly look forward to your new book.

> Yours faithfully,

> Harry Potter

Potter the poet? Draco scoffed. It was ridiculous to think that Harry Potter was a reader of Muggle romance novels, but he recognised the untidy scrawl, and the tell-tale markings of quill upon parchment. Draco unfolded the enclosed poem and read it.

>   
>  __  
> 

> When love unfinished, vanished in a spark,  
>  how can I trust this love that I have found?  
>  I am left in wonderment to seek  
>  the passing days that fall upon the ground.

> The sun and moon and stars are swirled; I'm sick.  
>  I feel as if I bleed—with thorns I'm crowned,  
>  and naked left to wander blind and stark  
>  in diamond sparkled blackness I am drowned.

> The wheel in my heart which turns every stroke  
>  of truth in all its splendour yet unwound,  
>  but breeze and wind uncover dust—a speck  
>  and I am lost, embraced without a sound.

> Please take me by the hand and guide the streak  
>  of lightning rush that pulses veins when struck.

So this is why Potter left Quidditch—to become a poet. Draco laughed, and moved to toss the poem in the fire, but drew it back at the last second. He would write back and tell Potter exactly what he thought of his writing.

Draco pulled out a pen and paper and wrote:

> Dear, Mr. Harry Potter.

> I thank you for your interest in my books. I received your poem and must tell you, you have zero talent. Put away your pen and go back to your day job.

> Sincerely,

> Francis McDougall


	2. Chapter 2

Harry read the letter again, sighing. His hero thought he had zero talent. He went to throw the letter in the fire in the parlour at 12 Grimmauld Place, but found he couldn't do it. He kept the letter, holding it to his face and sniffing. It had a spicy scent to it. McDougall's cologne perhaps? Harry carefully refolded his rejection, and ran to his room to slip it under his pillow.

Harry set his wards and walked to the Leaky. He ordered a bottle of Ogden's Old and settled into the back booth, where nobody would bother him. He pulled out a quill and parchment and began to write another poem. This time he would show McDougall that he did have talent. He scribbled a few lines, and then pulled out his dog-eared copy of _Lover_ , and opened it to his favourite scene.

>   
>  _She held her pillow close and cried into it, pouring tears of bitterness and pain into the cloth, staining it with agony. She vowed never to love again as she drifted into a restless sleep._   
> 

>   
>  _Antony stood over her sleeping form and gazed down upon her. He got to his knees and woke her with a gentle kiss._   
> 

Harry looked up as Tom came past with his broom. "We're closing, Mr. Potter. Can I get you a room for the night?"

"No, thank you, Tom. I'll just be on my way," Harry said wearily.

He walked home in the heavy darkness of the early morning, and sat in the kitchen, nursing his bottle, and putting the last line to his poem. It was bleak, but Harry felt it expressed exactly what he felt that morning, and after receiving his letter of rejection. He penned another note to McDougall.

> Mr. McDougall,

> You are a very cruel man. I have enclosed another poem for you to rip up and spit upon, and I welcome you to it. I do have talent, but not as great as yours. I stand in awe of you and faithfully await your next novel.

> Harry Potter 

~*~

Draco opened his front door to sit on his porch and have a quiet cup of tea and a cigarette before he opened his novel again. Lying on the mat was another letter from Potter. He picked it up and carried it over to the porch swing to read it.

Potter always was thick in the head. Draco wondered what it would take to get him to bugger off. He unfolded the square parchment in the envelope and read Potter's most recent poem.

>   
> __  
> I stagger blindly with sleep filled eyes,  
>  as my mediocrity is exposed  
>  to all.  
> 

>   
> _I'm cold in this dewy pasture._  
>  My socks, wet through my shoes  
>  and my breath is smoke.  
> 

>   
> _Home lies uphill, a steep climb._  
>  Hope is lost.  
>  I do not feel.  
> 

>   
> _The dandelions are closed up_  
>  hiding their petals from the frost.  
>  I wish I was a dandelion.  
> 

>   
> _The pain in my bones_  
>  deadens my steps.  
>  I am walking clay.  
> 

It wasn't bad, Draco thought, but he wasn't about to let Potter know that. He finished his cigarette and swirled the dregs of his tea around his cup. Fucking Harry Potter. Would he never leave Draco alone?

Draco returned to his laptop and opened the file for his novel, which was due the following day. He was so close to finishing it, but every time he tried to write, stupid Potter's poem would come into his head and linger there, poisoning his happy ending. He had to do something about it, so he pulled out another piece of paper and wrote another letter.

> Potter,

> I don't know why you think I would care about your mediocre poetry. Stop writing to me. I'm a very busy person and I'm trying to finish my novel. You're ruining my muse with your awful talent.

> Francis McDougall

He addressed the envelope and put a stamp on it, then returned to his laptop, feeling much better, and finished the novel, though Potter's words echoed in his head.

Laura Barr stopped by later that day to pick up the manuscript and invited herself for tea.

Draco scowled as he put the kettle on.

"What's this?" she asked, holding Harry's poem. "It's good. Are you thinking of taking up poetry?"

Draco turned around. "God, no. That's just some rubbish a fan sent me after I told him he had zero talent. He won't let up on me and it's driving me insane."

"Why do you say he has zero talent? We'd publish this. Has he sent you anything else?"

Draco grabbed the parchment from her and put it in his pocket. "No. And don't even think of asking me for his name. I will not share a publishing house with a speccy git like him."

"So you know him then?" Laura asked, lips curving into a smile.

"No!" Draco shouted, exasperated. "I went to school with him, that's all. He doesn't even know that it's me he's writing to. If he did, I doubt he'd be a fan of my work. It's all rubbish anyway."

"Francis, your work isn't rubbish. It's the only way you know how to express your tender side. It's like you have a split personality. I really wish you would agree to an interview or two. Your fans are dying to know what you look like. You're too reclusive. When was the last time you left the house?"

"Leave me alone, Laura. I don't do interviews. I visit my mother for tea every Sunday, not that it's any of your business."

"But where do you come up with all of your delicious love scenes? Do you ever have women over?"

"That's none of your concern and no, I'm not interested if you're offering. I need to get to sleep now, if you don't mind."

Laura sighed, and set her teacup down. She picked up the manuscript and got to her feet. "Well, thank you for meeting your deadline. Do you have any plans for your next novel?"

"Woman, give me a break. I'll contact you when I have an idea. Just make sure I get paid, and I'll see you next month." He escorted her to the door.

He had fitful dreams that day, all featuring Harry Potter in place of a damsel in distress.

~*~

Harry read through his letter, a wry smile on his face. He was at least getting a reaction out of his favourite writer and that was cause to celebrate.

"Harry," said Hermione at Sunday breakfast. "Don't you think you're becoming a bit obsessed with that novelist?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean, he's all you talk about lately. I still can't believe you've given up Quidditch to write poetry."

"Leave it alone, Hermione. It's what I want to do," said Harry.

"Well it just seems like you can never settle in with a job. Look, if you're so upset with how this writer has been treating you, why don't you pay him a visit and have him tell it to your face? Maybe you'll learn how to take a hint then."

"That's a brilliant idea, Hermione. I'll get his address from his publishing company."

"Actually, I take it back. You shouldn't bother him any more."

"Too late, Hermione. I'm a man with a mission. I'm going to face him directly and challenge him to write a better poem than I can write."

"Oh, Harry. Your poetry is really good, but it's hardly publishable, and we're talking about a celebrated novelist. If he says your stuff is no good, you ought to work on it some more, get more practice, do a course or something."

Harry helped himself to some more bacon and eggs. "Nope. I'm going to look him up today."

"Don't forget," said Hermione. "You promised to help me out a couple of days next week."

"I remember. I've just gotta do this. I need to make him apologise, or at least recognise me."

Later that day, Harry stood in the small publishing house known as Duke, and rang the bell on the front desk.

Laura Barr was the only one in the office, as it was Sunday and she was editing the latest McDougall novel. "May I help you?" she asked.

"Yes," said Harry. "I'm Harry Potter, and am looking for Francis McDougall's address."

"I'm sorry," Laura said, "But Francis doesn't see people and I can't give you his address."

Harry tipped his wand out of his sleeve and whispered, " _Legilimens_ ". He saw Draco's small white bungalow in her mind, and got his bearings about him. It was in Wiltshire, not far from Malfoy Manor.

"Well, thank you anyway," he said and walked around to the building's alley and Disapparated.

He felt slightly guilty for invading her mind like he had, but needs must, and Harry needed to meet Francis McDougall. He had to confront him.

He reappeared outside of Malfoy Manor and began to walk, heart yammering in his chest with nerves. He finally came to find the small house, nestled in an overgrown garden. He walked up the stairs to the porch and rang the doorbell.

The door was open, but for the screen, and he heard a male voice call out: "I'm not home, go away!"

Harry rang the bell again, standing firm and readying his argument. He stood back as the screen was flung open and Draco Malfoy stood before him, dressed in black silk pyjama bottoms, smoking a cigarette, hair neatly tussled, looking fit to kill.

"Potter," he spat. "What are you doing at _my_ house?"

"Malfoy?" Harry asked stupidly. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Draco took a long drag on his cigarette and tapped the ash on the porch. "I _live_ here, what's your excuse?"

"I'm looking for Francis McDougall," Harry said.

"You found me. Happy, are we?"

" _You're_ Francis McDougall? You, the same you that hates me? Gah, and I actually sent you fan mail." Harry tore at his hair. "You've got to be kidding me. How did _you_ become a Muggle romance novelist?"

"That's none of your concern, Potter. What I'd like to know, is how you can claim to call yourself a poet."

"I'll have you know that the _Daily Prophet_ thinks well enough of my poetry," Harry said, nearly growling.

"Yeah, and I'm sure the fact that you're Harry Potter doesn't have anything to do with that success," Draco taunted.

Harry felt like killing something. How could he have been so stupid as to worship an anonymous romance novelist that turned out to be his boyhood nemesis? He huffed and puffed, face growing red the angrier he got.

Draco's smug expression melted away and he looked left to right, noticing that the old lady next door was watching them curiously. "Come on in, Potter. I don't need you making a scene on my front porch."

Harry felt strange going into Draco Malfoy's house. The day was not turning out at all like he expected.

Draco turned around and walked to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and grabbed a can of beer, even though it was ten o'clock in the morning. He shut his laptop and sat down at his dining room table, while Harry stood fuming in the front hall.

Draco opened his beer and took a long draught, then reached for his Marlboros and lit up, pulling the ashtray towards himself.

Harry invited himself into the dining room and took the seat opposite Draco. Draco arched an eyebrow. "So, what do you want with me, Potter?" Draco asked, leaning back in his chair and scratching at the sparse trail of hair beneath his navel, drawing Harry's eyes. Draco flashed a grin when he caught Harry looking at him. "Don't tell me you're a poof, looking to screw a romance novelist?"

Harry flushed. "No, I'm not," he said defensively. "I came to issue you a writing challenge."

"Your writing's crap, Potter. A primary school student could write better poetry than yours."

"And I bet you can't," said Harry.

"That's nonsense. You're full of shit. I happen to have more pressing work to do and would appreciate it if you'd just bugger off."

"No!" Harry shouted. "I fell in love with your stupid books only to find that you're the one who wrote them. I'm pissed off and you told me I have zero talent. Well I'm here now and I'm going to prove you wrong."

Draco rubbed his temples and closed his eyes as if trying to stave off a headache. "Why do you have to be so bull-headed about everything? I'm telling you to get out of my house!"

"I won't!" Harry shrieked. "Not until you face my challenge! I think you're afraid that you'll lose."

"That's ridiculous, Potter. I'm a seasoned novelist and you're a stupid Quidditch player. Now get out of here. I have work to do."

Harry rose up from his chair and pointed his wand at Draco. "Do it, or I'll curse you. I've got Auror training to back me up, so don't even think that you'll be able to win a duel against me."

Draco stamped out his cigarette and rubbed his face with his hands, exasperated. "So, all I have to do is write a bloody poem and get it published? Put your wand away for Merlin's sake. You're standing in front of the window in a Muggle neighbourhood."

"Not until you say yes," said Harry angrily. He felt righteous about forcing Draco into a corner. He felt he'd been tricked and he needed vengeance against the man he'd hated for the majority of his life, posing as a Muggle.

"Fine, yes. I'll do it. Now put your wand away, before somebody sees you," Draco hissed. "People walk past here all the time."

Harry put his wand in the concealed holster he wore in his sleeve. "We write them now, right now, and then mail them off to _The Times_. The subject this week is art and nature. You use your real name, so you won't get an advantage. We'll see who can get their poem published, and then I'll leave you alone."

"Is that right?" Draco asked sardonically. "I say we make it a little more interesting. I'll wager one hundred Galleons that I'll be published and you won't."

"It's a deal," Harry said hotly. "Give me a pen and paper and let's get started."

"Fuck, I can't believe you're here, forcing me to do this." Draco said, rolling his eyes. He walked over to the built-in sideboard, where he kept his printer, and fetched a piece of paper and pen. He also reached up to the cupboard with bevelled glass panes and pulled out a bottle of Ogden's Old and two glasses. He brought them to the table and set everything down. He passed Harry the pen and paper and poured two splashes into each glass.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked, eyeing the alcohol. "It's not even noon."

"I'm drunk," said Draco. "You're not. We need to even the score. So we write these poems and take a shot every ten minutes until we're finished."

"Fine," said Harry. "If that's how you want to play it. I'll beat you no matter how drunk I get. My poetry is good and you're the one that's full of shit. I bet the only reason you said I have zero talent is because it was me writing."

An hour and six shots later, Harry's head was spinning, while Draco sat typing an outline for his new novel, having finished his poem half an hour earlier.

Draco poured himself another splash of whiskey and downed it in one. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked over at Harry. "Done yet? It's taking you long enough and it's time for another shot."

"No, no more," Harry said sickly. "I'm finished, finally. How the hell can you be so sober?"

"Obviously I can hold my alcohol better than you, Potter. Let's hear your poem and then I want you to bugger off."

"Why do you want to hear my poem?" Harry asked, head swimming. "I thought we'd just send them in and you'd read it when it gets published."

"Like you're really going to get published, Potter," Draco said. "We read them now, so that you can't magically draw yours back and change it once you've sobered up. It's to make sure you won't cheat."

"Only you would think of cheating like that," Harry slurred. "Fine. Let's hear your poem."

Draco sighed and read his poem.

> "A spatter of white on the canvas of night,  
>  the full moon pins it in place.  
>  The trappings of flesh are gone in a flash,  
>  leaving me spinning in space."

"What does that have to do with art?" Harry asked seriously, trying to clear his head by shaking it.

"Shut it, Potter. It's the night sky likened to a backdrop. If you can't see that, you're definitely no poet. Now it's your turn to impress me with your mediocrity."

> "Captivating as the sea, your eyes drew me right in  
>  and naked on a canvas raft, your brushstrokes drew my skin  
>  but now you've gone, and I'm alone though I'll never lose my sight  
>  left to drown upon the crag, you have become my light."

"Yes, it's rubbish," Draco said, pouring himself another drink. "It's depressing and it's making me think of your love life, the very thought of which makes me sick."

"Well thank you so much," said Harry, standing up. He swayed and caught himself on the arm of his chair.

"Well, it's been interesting. There's the door, Potter. I trust you can figure out how to use it."

Harry sat back down. "I'm not going anywhere," he said. "I can't even remember what the three Ds are."

"Shit, I gave you the Firewhiskey with the tranquiliser in it. Damn. Still, you're not welcome here," said Draco. "You can go and sleep it off in the road for all I care."

"Too bad," said Harry, laying his head on the table. "You got me drunk; you're stuck with me."

Draco looked at the clock on the wall. It was eleven-thirty. "You have two hours to sober up, Potter. And then I want you gone."

"Just need to sleep," Harry said, slurring his words. "I'll be fine once I sleep."

Draco ran his fingers through his hair, holding his head, frustrated.

"All right!" he said angrily. "I'll make up the sofa so you don't get any germs on it, but once you wake up, you're out of here!"

"Fine, s'good," Harry mumbled, pillowing his head with his arms on the table.

He watched Draco carefully cover his sofa with a sheet, tucking it in around the cushions in the lounge which was decorated with a motif of nude men. Harry noticed the firm arse, showing through Draco's pyjama bottoms, and the sculpted muscles of his back. If he wasn't Draco Malfoy, Harry thought he'd work on seducing him. He still couldn't believe Francis McDougall was actually Draco, but in his drunken haze, he found that he didn't care any more. He stumbled to the sofa after Draco had finished making it up, and fell upon it, falling asleep almost instantly despite the hour. He'd been awake since the day before, nervous about meeting McDougall.

When Harry awoke, he found Draco asleep in his chair, laptop still open. All was dark in the house, except for the glow of the screen on Draco's sleeping face. Harry got up off the sofa and tiptoed to the door. He opened it with a loud creak, which made Draco start in his sleep. Harry carefully left the house, pulling up on the doorknob as he closed the door behind him, to silence the creaking.

His head pounded and his eyeballs throbbed as he walked down the dirt road toward Malfoy Manor and its Apparation point. He shivered in the cool of the night air, having forgotten to retrieve his coat from Malfoy's house. He figured it would be more of a pain to go back and get it than was worth his time. He carefully turned on the spot, concentrating on his destination, and Disapparated.

He reappeared on the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place to find that his wards were down and the light was on in the parlour. It had to be Hermione. Harry just knew it. She was the only one he'd told about his mission to meet his hero.

He opened the front door and stepped inside. "'Mione?" he called. She came out of the kitchen and ran over to him.

"Harry, where have you been? Do you realise it's one o'clock in the morning? I was just getting ready to wake Ron up to go looking for you."

"Give it a rest, Hermione. I'm tired and I don't feel like arguing any more today."

"So," Hermione asked, hands on her hips. "Did you find him?"

"Yes," said Harry. "And he was nothing but a big prat. I'm disappointed."

"Oh, Harry. I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione said comfortingly. "But you knew he might be, based on the letters he sent."

"Yeah, well, I doubt I'll be reading his books any longer. Would you mind buggering off? I'd like to sleep some more. My head is killing me."

"Why, what were you doing?" Hermione asked in her bossy tone.

"Drinking and writing and arguing," Harry answered. "Damn bastard spikes his whiskey with tranquilisers, I think I've slept most of the day."

"Well, I'll leave, now that I know you're safe."

"'Mione, you're not my mum. You don't have to worry about me all the time. It gets annoying."

"Excuse me for caring," said Hermione. "I'll show myself out."

Harry stumbled up the stairs to his bedroom and slipped out of his clothes. He climbed, naked, into bed, switched off the lamps with a quick _Nox_ , and put his wand beneath his pillow. Sleep found him once again.

>   
>  _Draco thrust into him, hitting his pleasure spot over and over as Harry writhed beneath him, watching the pale face contort with ecstasy. He was harder than he'd ever been, and began to stroke himself in time with Draco's thrusts, sweating bullets as his bollocks drew up. He came spectacularly, in thick white ropes all over his chest and stomach and watched as Draco's mouth elongated into an 'O' and his grey eyes found Harry's as he came inside with a loud moan. He rode out his orgasm, blond hair, slick with sweat and plastered to the side of his face and forehead. Harry had never seen a sexier sight._   
> 

He woke up, the sheets sticking to his body with come, and he groaned and smacked himself in the head. Why the hell was he dreaming about Draco Malfoy and why was it such a bloody fantastic dream?


	3. Chapter 3

Draco woke with a crick in his neck and a hard-on greater than he'd ever had. He groaned as he sat forward in his chair. Bloody Potter and his tight black shirt, showing off his Quidditch-toned chest. He looked over to discover the mussed-up sheet on the sofa and no sign of Potter, save his coat, which hung on Draco's rack. He shut his laptop and made a dash for the shower, vowing not to wank to thoughts of Potter.

He stroked himself beneath the steady stream of warm water thinking of muscular chests and tight thighs. He was almost there, when the image of Harry's angry face and wild green eyes as he cornered Draco with his wand came into his head, and he came hard against the shower wall, cursing himself afterwards.

Potter, always getting in the way. He thought disappearing to the Muggle world would get rid of the golden boy and his hold over Draco, ever since he'd saved his life during the war, but no. Like a bloody Niffler finding gold, Potter found him. He'd just better keep his mouth shut as to Draco's true identity.

Draco got out of the shower and dressed in a clean pair of silk pyjama bottoms. He padded barefoot to the dining room, grabbed a pen and paper and wrote Harry a letter.

> Potter,

> I shouldn't have to tell you, but you're so dense I feel I must. Do not tell anybody who I am. I will seek you out and kill you if you do. You left your bloody coat at my house. I'll send it to you by owl post later this week. Do not contact me again.

> Francis McDougall

Draco addressed the envelope and put a stamp on it. He went out to his front porch to affix the letter to his letter box, when Harry Potter came walking up the road. Draco was so mad he could spit. Harry was dressed this time in a tight green t-shirt, showing off each rippling muscle in his torso, and a pair of skinny black jeans that accentuated his arse perfectly. He looked like sex on legs and Draco had to swallow hard before he started yelling.

"Potter, what the fuck are you doing here?"

Harry arrived at the drive and strolled up to Draco's porch. "You don't have to shout. I came to fetch my coat. Don't you ever wear clothes any more?"

Draco didn't dignify that with an answer. "I'll get your coat. Stay here."

He opened the door, heart pounding, and plucked Harry's coat off the rack. Before he realised what he was doing, he was smelling the coat and the spicy, earthy scent that was Potter. It pissed him off that Potter smelled as good as he looked. He was everything that Draco was looking for in a partner and he just had to be Potter.

He stamped out of the house, holding the coat away from himself as if it were infectious, and tossed it in Harry's face.

"Thanks," Harry said, and turned around, shrugging into his coat and stalking away.

Draco remembered the letter. "Oy, Potter, wait." Draco called. He plucked the letter from the letter box and carried it over to where Harry stood in the drive. "This is for you. I'll post our poems today, and I don't want to hear from you until the time comes that you have to pay me one hundred Galleons for losing our bet," Draco said with a sneer.

"Whatever," said Harry in a defeated voice. He took the letter from Draco and walked back down the road and out of sight.

Draco felt his cock stirring again and rushed back into the house, cursing his treacherous body. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, opened it, and took a long draught. He sat down at the table and opened his laptop, navigating to his new outline, trying to get Harry Potter out of his mind.

~*~

Harry had spent the last three days brooding over the fact that Draco Malfoy would not leave his mind. He awoke in the mornings, wet with come, after dreaming of the half-dressed novelist in his silk pyjama bottoms. It was infuriating.

He'd discovered a couple of Draco's blond hairs stuck to his coat and toyed with the idea of asking Zacharias Smith if he still had any Polyjuice and if he wouldn't mind playing Draco's part in bed. But Harry remembered his promise not to tell anybody about Draco's identity or his whereabouts, so that idea was shot.

Harry decided that he needed to get laid and so found himself at a gay Muggle club called _Embers_. The club was dark and the dancefloor packed as bright lights strobed over the dancing figures and the light of small oil lamps decorated each table, crowded with men. Harry made his way over to the bar and ordered a whisky, bumping into a handsome blond man. "Excuse me," Harry said, and then he got a good look at the man. It was Draco Malfoy. "Malfoy? What are _you_ doing here?" he asked, flabbergasted.

Draco's brilliant smile faded into a sneer as he recognised Harry. "Potter," he said. "I'm doing the same thing you are and I suggest you stay on that side of the room. I don't want to share space with you," Draco said, gesturing to a table-filled area.

"Yeah, fine," Harry retorted. "You stay over there." He pointed at the dancefloor and Draco grinned.

"Gladly," he said, turning on his heel and sashaying over to the dance floor, immediately being drawn into a lascivious dance by a man dressed in purple and black velvet, with long brown hair hanging to his shoulders.

Harry fumed as he watched them. He took a seat at the bar after finishing his drink and ordered another one. His eyes were drawn to Draco and he couldn't stop watching, jealous, as the long-haired man got closer and closer, whispering into Draco's ear and making him laugh in a way that Harry had never seen before. Draco was gorgeous.

He wore an outfit similar to Harry's: a tight black t-shirt and a pair of skinny black jeans, that accentuated his perfectly globed arse.

Draco and the man finished dancing and went to the bar together, sitting down opposite Harry. Harry eyed the man suspiciously. His Auror training instincts had kicked in and he kept a careful eye on him, having learnt to profile people. There was just something false about the man and the way he was charming Draco, and then Harry saw it. The man slipped a tablet into Draco's drink and before Harry could get up to stop him, Draco had drained his drink in one go.

The man caught Draco as he slumped on his bar-stool, and Draco began to nibble at the man's neck. Harry was furious. He got up and rounded the bar, tapping the man on the shoulder. "You'd better bugger off before I call the police," Harry said, throwing as much authority into his voice as he could manage.

"What?" the man asked. "My date here has just had one too many, and I was about to take him home, so I'd appreciate it if you'd leave."

"I saw you drop a tablet into _my_ friend's drink, so don't fuck with me," Harry scowled. He tapped Draco on his shoulder. "Malfoy, come on, let's get out of here."

Draco turned to look at Harry, his pupils nearly covering the grey of his eyes. "Potter? Is that you?" he asked, smiling dumbly.

"Yes," said Harry. "It's me. You've been drugged, let's get you home."

"Don't wanna," Draco complained. "Wanna shag. Do you wanna shag, Potter?" Draco asked ignoring the man whose lap he was practically sitting in.

Harry pulled Draco off and glared at the man, who casually walked away. Draco clung to Harry's arm. He pulled himself upright and steadied himself, holding onto Harry's shoulders. He looked down at Harry's lips and suddenly, Harry found his mouth full of Draco's tongue and couldn't help but snog him back, though a little voice in the back of his head reminded him that Draco was not in his right mind. Harry pulled away, leaving Draco panting, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

"I want you, Potter," Draco slurred into Harry's ear, and began nibbling on the shell. "I want to fuck you, want to stick my thick cock up that perfect arse of yours. S'all I've been thinking about for days."

"Right," Harry said, knowing it was the drugs talking. "Well let's get back to your place and we'll talk."

Harry had to practically drag Draco to the back exit to the alley behind the club. Once they were outside, Draco pushed Harry, with surprising strength, up against the wall and fell to his knees before him.

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Harry asked, his voice going high-pitched.

"Wanna suck your cock," Draco answered, trying to undo Harry's jeans at the seam.

Harry lifted him back up on his feet. "Let's get back to your place, yeah? Hold onto me, I'll side-along you."

Harry grabbed Draco about the waist with one arm, turned and Disapparated. They reappeared outside Malfoy Manor and Draco stumbled over his feet.

Harry half-dragged Draco to his house, taking three times as long to get there than he normally would. The chill in the air was palpable as they walked. Harry had forgotten his coat at the club and assumed that Draco had as well. Draco shivered against Harry's body, teeth chattering in the February night. They finally arrived.

"Can you manage to take down your wards?" Harry asked, hoping that Draco was with it enough to do it himself. Harry didn't want to have to spend any more time outside breaking through them.

"Muggle house," Draco mumbled. "Key's in my pocket." He reached for his pocket, but his coordination was off and he kept missing it. Harry reached inside for him and withdrew the key and unlocked the front door. He set the key down on the wooden room divider and then found himself once again being attacked by Draco. Draco held him against the wall, his thigh nestled between Harry's legs, and he began snogging Harry as if he was a starving man at a banquet, devouring as much as possible.

  


  


Harry broke away for air. "Malfoy, let's get you to bed. You need to sleep this off."

"Yes, bed," Draco crooned. "Want to fuck your tight arse. Want to eat you out and make you writhe beneath me."

"We'll see," said Harry, deciding to go along with whatever Draco said in order to get him to his bedroom. Harry found himself being pushed down on top of Draco's enormous bed, and covered with Draco's body, rubbing up and down against his erection. Draco's hand snaked its way down to massage Harry's cock through his jeans, bringing it to full hardness, and Harry gasped.

He tipped his wand out of its concealed holster and murmured, _Stupefy_. Draco fell limp on top of him and Harry struggled to get out from beneath the taller and heavier man. He levitated Draco up into his bed and pulled the blankets up over him.

He took a seat in a rocking chair which sat in the corner of Draco's room, not daring to leave in case Draco woke up and decided to leave the house while still under the influence.

Draco stirred several hours later and Harry jolted awake, having fallen asleep rocking.

"Potter?" Draco said groggily.

"Yeah, I'm still here," said Harry.

"Tell me I didn't do what I think I did last night," Draco pleaded.

"I don't know," said Harry. "What is it you think you did?"

"I think I admitted to you that I want your body."

"Er—yes, you did do that."

"Christ," Draco swore, throwing his pillow over his face.

"It's all right," Harry said. "I didn't take advantage of you or anything. I had to stun you to get you into bed though."

"That's not making me feel any better, Potter," Draco called, muffled by the pillow.

Harry didn't know what to say. He felt incredibly awkward. He realised he had dropped his animosity towards Draco sometime in the past few days. He was afraid it was only Draco's body that he sought, but after being offered it so freely the night before, he realised that he wanted to actually get to know the Malfoy known as Draco.

"Well, I should go," said Harry, standing up.

"Yes," said Draco. "You should."

Harry paused. "Are you going to be all right?"

"I'll manage, Potter. Now scram before I get mad at you."

Harry walked to the door and Draco's voice stopped him.

"Thank you, for taking care of me last night," Draco said quietly.

"You're welcome," Harry said, not daring to turn around. His heart thundered in his ears and he had Draco's scent all over his body. The smell of whisky and cigarettes, and instead of being a total turn-off, Harry thought the smell was quite nice.

He left the house and nearly broke into a run once he reached the dirt road. He still couldn't believe the amazing kiss from the night before or the sensation of Draco bringing him to hardness. He grew hard remembering it. He reached the Apparation point and returned home.

In the shower, Harry replayed the night's events as they happened once he'd got Draco home. He stroked his cock, thick and heavy, as the water poured down the valleys of his back and into the crack of his arse. He wanted Draco's cock. Wondered what it would look like, how it would feel to be penetrated by Draco. He came, spurting hard all over his hand, and watched the thick white fluid as it was washed away down the drain. Why did it have to be Malfoy? If Francis McDougall was any other person in the world, Harry would be all over him. But Malfoy. It seemed like the harder he tried to stay away from him, the stronger the pull towards him became.

Draco was dangerous, like a drug. Harry didn't think he could ever get enough of him. Even when they fought, Draco aroused feelings in Harry that he didn't experience with anybody else. Draco made him feel alive and he liked it.

Disgusted with himself for being weak, Harry climbed out of the shower and towelled off.


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days passed without event, though Harry could not get the kisses he'd shared with Draco out of his mind. He found himself wanking to the thought of Draco fucking him three times a day, and wondered what the hell he was going to do about it. Draco hated him with a passion.

Sunday arrived, and with it _The Times_. Harry opened the paper to the Arts and Leisure section, and found that his poem had been published. He punched the air. Now he had an excuse to visit Draco again. He Apparated to the Apparation point outside of Malfoy Manor, and walked up the dirt road to Draco's house.

When he arrived, he rang the bell, but there was no answer. Harry sat on the porch swing and read the newspaper, while he waited for Draco to return home. He was engrossed in an article about a recipe for friot cake, when he heard Draco's drawl.

"What do you think you're doing here? I told you to never come back," Draco said, folding his arms defensively.

"That isn't true," Harry protested. He held up the paper for Draco to see. "I won. My poem has been published," he said with a smirk.

Draco grabbed the paper out of Harry's hands. "Let me see that," he said, opening it to the writing page and glancing at the poetry section. "Well, congratulations, Potter," he said bitterly. "I'll send you your Galleons in a couple of days. Now get out of here, and don't come back."

Harry stood up and faced Draco, looking up into his cold grey eyes. "No," he said, feeling reckless. "I won't leave. I'm not interested in your money. I'm interested in you."

"What are you talking about, Potter?" Draco asked, hands on his hips. "Don't tell me you fancy me simply because I was all over you under the influence of a drug."

"No," Harry said. "I was thinking about you a lot before I even ran into you at _Embers_ ; I just had no idea you were gay. You write heterosexual romance, for Christ's sake. I want to get to know you, the real you, in place of the Galleons."

"No deal," Draco said sneering. "I _don't_ want to get to know you. I don't even like you. I hate you, in fact. So, bugger off and stop harassing me."

"I didn't want to have to do this," said Harry, looking at Draco with fire in his eyes. "I'm going to call in your life debt. I want one week with you, to spend it with you and get to know you, and if after a week you still hate me, I'll leave you alone forever."

"That's rotten, Potter," Draco said, face growing dark. "You know I can't refuse paying off a life debt. Why do you want me? What gives you the idea that I may possibly want you?"

"I feel alive when I'm around you, Draco," Harry said pleadingly. "You've always been able to stir my emotions in a way that nobody else ever could. When you were under the influence, I was so tempted to give in and let you shag me, but I didn't take advantage of you, because I respect you."

"That's all nonsense, Potter. You hate me and always have. You're making fun of me because I admitted my attraction towards you, and I don't think it's funny."

"One week," Harry pressed. "You can't say no."

"Fine," Draco said, throwing up his hands. "You can see me for one week, but at the end of this week, I want you gone, and you promise me that you'll leave me alone for the rest of our lives."

"Agreed," Harry said, holding out his hand to shake. Draco clasped it and shook, then turned and stalked into the house.

Harry followed him, and opened the door that Draco had let slam in his face. He entered Draco's house and found him sitting at his laptop with a fresh beer in his hand. "Are you going to spend our entire week together writing?" Harry asked.

Draco looked up from his laptop and grabbed a cigarette from his pack and lit it. "I will do what you want me to do," he scowled. "That's the deal with a life debt. I won't back down on paying it off."

"Well, let's talk then," Harry suggested, taking a seat to Draco's right. "What do you do for fun?"

Draco scoffed. "I write. I'm a novelist."

Harry nodded. "What about _Embers_? "Do you go there very often?"

Draco sighed with exasperation. "I go there when I need to get laid, which you ruined for me, by the way. Thank you so much. I live on my own and prefer it that way."

"I saved your arse," Harry said defensively. "That Muggle was going to rape you."

"Whatever," Draco said, blowing smoke towards Harry.

Harry waved the smoke out of his face. "Did you go back then?" he asked, jealousy rising up inside.

"No," said Draco. "After that experience, I don't think I'll ever go back there. I'm going to have to find a better way to find a shag."

"What about me?" Harry asked seriously.

"You can't be serious," Draco said incredulously. "That is the most ludicrous idea I think you've ever had."

"I want you, Draco. I want your thick cock to fill my arse, and pound me until I can't walk straight. I want to kiss you and pet your hair. I _want_ you."

Draco blanched, then his face flushed. "Is that an order?" he asked.

"No," said Harry. "I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to, but I want you to know straight up how I feel about you."

"How the hell did this happen?" Draco demanded. "First you show up at my house, threatening me at wandpoint to accept your stupid poetry challenge, hating me the way we've always despised each other, and now you say you want me? How the hell did it happen? Did you hit your head or something?"

"It's your fault," Harry said, folding his hands on the table top. "You, walking around, half naked all the time, with your gorgeous body on display, and here I am, horny as all hell, watching your muscles move beneath your skin. How could I help but want a piece of that?"

"So, it's just my body you want then?" Draco said sardonically. "Well, you can't have it."

"I know," Harry said. "But I _will_ tell you how much I want you, all week long. I want you, not just your body. I want to get to know Draco instead of Malfoy. I want to see you smile, and be the cause of it. I want to watch you come; I want to be the one to arouse you to a fitful state of joy and satisfaction. I want _you_.

"Pfft, Potter, you wouldn't know what you want, even if it came up behind you and strangled you with a serpentine kiss," Draco said, swallowing the lump in his throat. He picked up his beer and took a long drink, then set it down and closed his laptop. "So," he said, voice laced with distaste. "What is it you want to do today?"

Harry silently cheered. He was going to be able to spend time with the man who'd been haunting his dreams. He knew he'd have to take it slow to get past Draco's defences. "I thought we could talk for a while longer. What's your next book going to be about?"

"You really want to know?" Draco asked, picking up his beer. He drained it, then tossed the empty can to join the pile in the corner, by the window.

"Of course I do. I fell in love with your books before I knew who you were. To tell you the truth, in _Lover_ , I thought that Charles and Mel had more chemistry than Charles and Mary. You want to be careful with that, if you're going to keep writing heterosexual romances," Harry said, running his fingers through his fringe. It was left lifted, and showed off the scar on his forehead.

Draco cleared his throat. "I still can't believe you're forcing me to talk with you. The next novel is going to be a homosexual romance. I'll probably lose most of my readers, but I've decided that I don't give a damn. I'd rather write about men anyway. If I'm not going to be getting any, I may as well write about it."

"I think it's brilliant," said Harry. "You know I'd let you have me in an instant if you need it. I'm not that bad-looking, after all."

"Potter," said Draco. "I think we've already established that I am attracted to your body. But the very fact that it belongs to you is an instant turn-off, so I refuse."

"You said you'd been thinking about me for days when you were drugged," Harry said, trying not to let Draco's refusal disappoint him.

"Yes, well, I was drugged and I didn't know what I was saying. What I meant was, your idiocy had been bothering me for days, and I can't get your stupid poems out of my head." Draco let his head fall back on his shoulders. "God, I need another beer. I can't talk to you sober."

Harry laughed. "I'll fetch you one, but they're going to make you fat if you keep drinking them."

Draco snapped his head up and flashed angry eyes at Harry. "Don't even joke about that," he said, affronted. "I work out daily, so I won't get fat; you just happen to be budging into my schedule and fucking it all up."

Harry sighed. "I'll get you another beer if you tell me what this novel is going to be about."

"Fine," Draco said. "I need to run the idea past somebody first anyway, before I begin writing, and I doubt my editor will be able to fully appreciate it."

Harry got up, grinning. He went to the kitchen, and pulled a fresh beer out of the fridge. "You think I'll be able to appreciate it then? I'm flattered." He returned to the dining room and handed the can to Draco, who scowled at him.

"You are a homosexual male; you _should_ be able to appreciate a book of erotica aimed at your preference."

"Bi," Harry said, retaking his seat.

"What? Are you leaving?" Draco asked hopefully.

"No," Harry said. "I'm bi. Bisexual. I didn't realise exactly how much I liked blokes until rather recently. You were going to tell me about the story," Harry reminded him.

"Right," said Draco and he took a sip from his beer. "Well, I'll just give you the rundown. It's about an artist and his lover. The artist has an inoperable brain tumour and dies. The end."

"That sounds a bit dark," Harry said, watching Draco carefully.

"Yes, well, having you coming over all the time has put me in a rather dark mood. Besides, I'm sick of happy endings. I want to branch out and write something different and eye-catching, even if nobody reads it." Draco took another draught from his beer and set it down. Picking up his box of cigarettes, he shook one out and lit it. "You say you're bi, how many men have you been with?" Draco asked.

Harry flushed. "Only one, but I Obliviated his memory of the experience. Still, it was the best shag I've ever had."

Draco smirked. "Why on Earth did you _Obliviate_ him then?" He tapped his ash into the tray beside his laptop.

Harry looked over at Draco, and clasped his hands on the table top. "You want to know something personal about _me_? he asked smugly.

Draco glared at him. "It only seems fair, if you're insisting we talk. I should be able to ask questions of you if I feel like it." He blew smoke at Harry and put out his cigarette.

"All right," Harry said. "It was with a member of Puddlemere, back when I still played, and he tricked me into bed by Polyjuicing into a woman."

Draco began to laugh, and Harry shot him a dirty look. "But you shagged him anyway?" Draco asked, chuckling.

"Obviously," said Harry. "Or rather he shagged me, but the point is that I don't want a gay scandal breaking out in the wizarding world. They already follow me all over the place. Staying with you will be a nice break from that."

"Wait, you're staying here?" Draco asked, aghast.

"Yes, that's part of the deal," Harry said with a crooked smile. "I get one entire week with you."

"Well, in case you haven't noticed," Draco said sourly. "I do not have a guest bedroom and I don't want you ruining the leather on my sofa by sleeping on it every night. You can sleep in the bathtub."

"I don't think so," said Harry smugly. He had been readying himself for this part of the bargain. "You have a huge bed, so I'll be sleeping on half of it and you'll have the other half. It's only for a week."

"No!" Draco shouted. "No way am I having your arse in my bed."

"It's part of the deal, Draco," Harry said. "Life debt and all. Don't worry, I won't molest you in your sleep, I promise."

" _I'd_ rather sleep in the bathtub," Draco said angrily. "You can't kick me out of my own bed though. I hate you and your stupid life debt demands." Draco pulled out another cigarette and lit it with a whispered " _Incendio_ ".

"Where did you learn wandless magic?" Harry asked, curious. "It's very advanced and you seem quite good at it."

"There are things about my past that I'd prefer not to tell you," Draco said sharply. "And that's one of them. Let's just say I learnt it because I needed to."

"All right," Harry said. "I'll try to stay off the subject of the past. I'd like to bury the past we have had together anyway."

"Like that's going to happen," Draco said under his breath.

"So, where were you earlier today?" Harry asked, curious. "I was under the impression that you didn't leave the house very often."

"I don't," Draco snapped. "If you must know, I visit my mother for tea every Sunday. She's been getting on my nerves lately though."

"Really?" Harry asked. "Why's that?"

"That is none of your business, Potter. Make my mother another taboo subject. We ought to write these rules down."

"If you insist," Harry said with a smile. He was having a great time talking with Draco. Draco made him feel like nobody else did. Even when he was being insulted, Harry felt his heart race with the excitement of getting a rise out of Draco.

"If we're going to have a long chat, I'm going to need some Firewhiskey. I can't talk to you sober. You give me such a headache," said Draco, rising from his chair to go to the sideboard. He pulled down a bottle of his quickly-depleting stock. He set it and a glass down on the table and reclaimed his seat.

"You drink a lot," Harry said. "It isn't good for you."

"I'll remind you to mind your own business about that," Draco said hotly. "It's your fault I'm drinking so much lately. I'm not going to get any work done this week am I? You're planning to pester me every minute you can squeeze out of this, aren't you?"

Harry sighed. "I'll give you some time to write," he said. "Hermione wants me to help her with some sort of research with the MLE anyway."

"Well, that's a relief," said Draco. "Maybe I'll hire a rentboy to relieve my tension while you're out."

"No," said Harry seriously. "No sex with anybody other than me for this week. I've got you for a week and I want you to myself."

"Potter, sex between us isn't going to happen."

"I don't care," Harry said, running his fingers through his hair again. "Just promise me."

"All right, fine," Draco said. "I'll add that to the list."

~*~

Harry opened his eyes to meet frightened grey ones, staring down at him.

"Potter, is that you?" Draco asked.

"Yeah," said Harry. "What are you doing awake?"

Draco's eyes grew hard again. "I thought I must be having a nightmare to wake up and find you in my bed. I need a drink if I'm ever going to get back to sleep."

He got up and padded out of the room on bare feet, dressed in his customary black silk pyjama bottoms. He returned with his half-filled bottle of tranquiliser-spiked Ogden's Old. He climbed back into bed and popped the cork, taking a long draught directly from the bottle.

Harry watched him through blurred eyes. He didn't bother to put his glasses on, but sat up against Draco's high headboard.

Draco passed him the bottle and Harry took a small drink. Draco lit a cigarette and took the bottle back. He drank and smoked in silence.

"Draco, did you have a nightmare?" Harry asked, curious. "Is that why you're awake at two o'clock in the morning?"

Draco held onto the neck of the bottle as he rested it beside his thigh. He was sitting propped up on the headboard a couple feet away from Harry, on the edge of the bed. "Malfoys don't have nightmares," he said, and took a drag from his cigarette, then tapped the ash in the tray on his bedside table.

"Right," said Harry. "I have nightmares all the time. I even had to go to a mind-Healer after the war for a couple of years."

"Potter, I don't give a damn how brain-damaged you are. Just stop talking. Here, take another drink," Draco said, passing Harry the bottle. Harry drank and began to feel dizzy. The tranquiliser was strong in this bottle. He passed it back to Draco who drained it to the last.

"M'not brain-damaged," Harry slurred, feeling the effects of the alcohol keenly. "M'just traumatised. S'all."

"Well, I'm perfectly fine," said Draco. "But exceptionally horny. Bugger off to the lounge so I can take care of this," Draco said, gesturing to his cock, straining against the fabric of his bottoms.

Harry wore cotton green boxers and felt his cock stir at the sight of Draco's, outlined in the thin material. Harry licked his lips. "No, I'm not going anywhere. If you want to take care of that, go right ahead. I'll just be over here."

"Potter, you're infuriating," Draco slurred. "Fine, I will, just stay on your side and no touching."

Harry watched as Draco pulled his bottoms off and began to lightly stroke his thick pink cock as it strained and dripped into his navel. Harry had never seen a sexier sight and was instantly rock-hard. He kicked the blankets down and pulled off his boxers.

"Potter, what are you doing?" Draco asked, lolling his head over to where Harry sat. Harry began to stroke himself in time with Draco, not taking his eyes off Draco's hand on his cock.

"I'm wanking, same as you. You've got me all worked up now. 'sides, it'll be easier to fall asleep after we come."

"Yeah," Draco said, breath hitching a bit. His cock was swollen with blood and dripping pre-come copiously. Harry wanted so much to reach over and taste it.

"Can I taste it?" Harry asked bravely.

"What?" Draco asked, attention focused on lengthening his strokes.

"Your come. It's gathering on your belly. Can I taste it, please?" Harry begged, stroking his cock a bit faster at the thought.

Draco grinned sloppily. "You wanna eat my come?" he asked, chuckling. "Come over here and suck it then."

"Are you serious?" Harry asked, sobering instantly.

"You afraid to suck cock, Potter?" Draco taunted.

"No," said Harry. "You just said earlier that you didn't want me to touch you."

"That was earlier," Draco said, bucking his hips. "I want to see my thick cock slip in and out of that mouth of yours. Nggh, you'd better get over here soon, or I won't last."

Harry wasted no time. He crawled over to Draco and batted his hand away from his cock. Then he lowered his mouth over the head of Draco's cock and held on at the base. He slurped and sucked, raising and lowering his head, tasting the sweet and bitter taste of Draco's juices, savouring the taste, rolling his tongue back and forth over the head and dipping into the slit.

Draco's breathing sped up and he grabbed Harry's hair and guided him up and down his shaft, pressing more of it in each time, trying to hit the back of Harry's throat.

Harry had never given a blowjob before and he gagged when Draco's cock-head hit the back of his throat. He relaxed his throat as much as he was able and allowed Draco to pound into him, sucking and slurping all the while. His own cock ached with need, but he ignored it in favour of pleasing Draco.

Draco began to thrust hard and he came with a great groan, down the back of Harry's throat. Harry swallowed reflexively, feeling accomplished and he licked at Draco's softening cock, getting all the come off of it.

"Have you come yet, Potter?" Draco asked, eyes rolling in his head.

"No," Harry admitted.

"Come on me," said Draco.

"What?" Harry asked, flabbergasted.

"Come on my stomach and then I want to watch you lick it off. Squirt your thick milk all over me and then clean me with your tongue like a cat."

Harry moaned and his hand sped up on his cock.

"Up here, Potter," Draco commanded. "Where I can see it."

Harry climbed to his knees and began stroking himself over Draco's belly. He stared at Draco's scant tuft of light blond hair leading down to a nest of tight blond curls and his twitching cock lying up towards his navel. He pumped into his fist, sweat dripping from his hair, and sliding down his back in glistening streaks. Draco reached down and touched Harry's cock head.

He began to gently stroke it, playing with the slit and smearing the fluid around the head with a finger. The stimulation proved too much for Harry. He looked up at Draco's open face and came with a strangled cry, all over Draco's stomach, chest and hand in thick, white ropes of come.

Draco held up his hand to Harry's lips. "Now, eat it," he said. Harry took Draco's hand in his own and licked the fluid off Draco's palm and then sucked at each finger, savouring the taste of bitterness and salt and the underlying smell of Draco. Once he finished Draco's hand, Draco pulled him by the hair, down to his stomach. "Lick it clean."

Harry started at his belly, licking the thick, milky stripes up and was so tempted to lick at Draco's cock again as he watched it harden. He reined in his self-control and moved up Draco's chest, following the trail of come to a nipple, pink and pert. Harry couldn't help himself, he latched on to the nipple and began to suck and tongue it into full hardness, teasing it while Draco made mewling noises below him.

"God, I want to fuck you, Potter," Draco choked.

Harry rose up and began kissing him. Draco snogged back heavily, using his tongue to explore every crevice of Harry's teeth and mouth. Harry felt himself growing hard again, and then Draco flipped him over onto his back and covered his body with his own.

Cocks rubbed together and Draco and Harry's sweat slicked torsos slid against one another while they danced with their tongues, tangling them to a perfect duet. Harry moaned and opened his legs, lifting them to circle Draco's sides.

Draco ground his groin into Harry's and broke the kiss, staring down into Harry's green eyes. Harry looked up at the pupil-blown grey eyes and knew that Draco was not in his right mind. "I'm going to fuck you, Potter, and you're going to love it."

Harry stopped caring at that point what frame of mind Draco was in. All he knew is that he wanted that thick pink cock up his arse, tickling his prostate and bruising him from the inside. "I _will_ love it," Harry agreed, and pulled Draco's face down into a kiss once more.

Draco held out his hand and with a non-verbal, wandless spell, the jar of lubrication that was in the drawer of his bedside table came flying out and Draco deftly caught it, still kissing Harry. "Want you so bad; wanted you forever," Draco mumbled and teased at Harry's opening with cool and slippery fingers.

Harry gasped as Draco breached him, first with one and then with two fingers. He wiggled them around, loosening Harry's passage and lubing him up from the inside out. He slicked his cock and pressed inside with one great thrust.

The tranquiliser in the whiskey dulled the pain so Harry hardly felt it. Instead he felt the incredible fullness of Draco's cock as it slid in and out, hitting his pleasure spot delightfully and making him moan. "God Draco, I love being fucked by you. You feel so fucking good."

"Damn right, I do," Draco slurred.

Harry wrapped his legs around Draco's backside and rode out the thrusting, pulling Draco's mouth down into a kiss. Their chests squelched together with perspiration and every time Draco slammed into Harry, there was a sharp slapping sound of flesh on flesh.

Harry feasted on Draco's mouth as if he were dying of thirst and only kissing Draco could quench it. He felt like they were two parts of the same whole, finally coming together, completing each other in a divine embrace.

Harry felt his bollocks draw up for the second time that night and he knew his orgasm was inevitable. "Draco," he gasped. "I'm gonna come."

Draco raised himself up on his arms and slammed into Harry, finding his prostate and pressing against it with purpose, until Harry could hold it no longer. He came again in thick white globs, feeling his channel ripple around Draco's cock as if it were a sentient being.

Draco came, practically screaming Harry's first name. Harry watched his face contort into the most brilliant pleasure, his blond hair, dripping with perspiration, flopped and stuck to his face. Draco was gorgeous when he came.

He fell on top of Harry and slid off the side of him, smearing Harry's come between them and getting it on the sheets. Harry reached for his wand on the bedside table and cleaned them up with a quick _Scourgify_.

Harry replaced his wand and was taken by a wave of sleepiness. Draco cuddled up behind him, spooning against his back and holding onto his chest with his hands. Harry felt Draco's rhythmic breathing and knew, as he was falling asleep, that Draco wouldn't have any more nightmares that night.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry woke up in the morning, warm and sticky with perspiration. Draco was a hot sleeper and apparently a cuddler. He could tell by the hot breath in his ear that Draco was not yet awake, but his morning erection was poking Harry in the arse and Draco would press against him every so often. Harry's arse was sore and throbbed, but it felt good. It was evidence that Draco had been there.

Harry had to piss, and he tried to move Draco's arm, but it just tightened around his waist and his hand wandered down to find Harry's half-mast cock, gripping it lightly. Draco moaned in his ear and then woke up and hurriedly scooted away from Harry to the opposite side of the bed, covering himself with the sheet.

"What the fuck happened last night?" Draco asked, fear in his voice.

Harry was afraid he'd get such a reaction and his cock was now fully erect. He rolled over to face Draco. He sighed. "What do you remember?"

Draco's face blanched. "I thought that was a dream," he said quietly.

"Well, it wasn't. We were both drunk on that spiked Firewhiskey of yours." Harry stretched himself underneath the sheet, cat-like, erection tenting the sheet.

Draco looked at it angrily. "You get off on my humiliation, do you?" he shouted.

Harry groaned and blinked his sleepy eyes. He reached backwards to the bedside table, retrieved his glasses and put them on his face, making Draco's blotchy red face visible. "Hey, it was just a one-time thing if you want it to be, all right?"

Draco stared at him blankly. "Why does it always have to be _you_? It's like I can never get away from you, no matter how far I go."

"Why do you _want_ to get away from me so badly?" Harry asked. "I'm not _that_ bad, am I?" He scooted up in the bed so he was sitting, leaning back against the headboard. He turned his head and stared at Draco, waiting for an answer.

Draco drew his knees up to his chest, still covered by the white sheet. "This is really uncool, Potter. I can't even sleep in the same bed as you without fucking you. What's up with that? I can't stand you."

"Look," said Harry. "How about we make a bargain? Whatever happens in this room, stays in here and we don't talk about it outside this room."

"What will that accomplish, Potter?" Draco asked. "You mean you want me to fuck you rotten every night and then pretend it didn't happen all day, right?"

"No," Harry said, frustrated. "I mean whatever is said or done in here will reach nobody else. It'll just be between the two of us, so we can say exactly how we feel while we're in here."

"I feel I may vomit," Draco said, face still pale.

"Can you wait until after I have a piss and a shower?" Harry asked. "I'm a bit sticky." He moved to pull the sheet down and Draco covered his eyes.

"What do you think you're doing, Potter?" he asked. "I'm still in the room!"

Harry chuckled. "And you're just as naked as I am. Don't tell me you're a prude when you're not drinking."

"I'm not a prude," Draco said defensively, pulling his hands away from his face. "Fine, get up and shower for all I care. You're leaving me alone to write for a bit today, aren't you?"

Harry flung back the sheet revealing his tanned, Quidditch-toned body, lithe and sleek-muscled. His cock still stood half-hard, but he didn't act ashamed in any way. He walked to the bathroom, keenly aware of Draco's eyes on his body. He smiled as he relieved his bladder and climbed into the Muggle bathtub/shower. The fact that Draco Malfoy lived as a Muggle further endeared him to Harry, and more than ever, Harry wanted to know the man he'd hated blindly for so many years.

When Harry came back into the room wearing a towel, Draco had left. He pulled on yesterday's clothes and walked to the dining room to find Draco madly typing on his keyboard, a fresh bottle of Ogden's Old and a glass full of it, beside the computer.

"Right then," Harry said, knocking on the wood of the table. "I'm off. I'll be back in time for dinner. I'll cook something."

Draco scoffed and said nothing. Harry got the gist that he was being ignored and it hurt, but he turned and left the house, on his way to the Apparation point. Hermione would be waiting for him at the Ministry and he'd have to stop by Grimmauld Place for some clothes at some point during the day.

~*~

Harry stopped by the Ministry of Magic after putting together a small trunk of clothes to cover him for the week at Draco's. He met Hermione on the second floor where she was in the Magical Law Enforcement's Hall of Records, sitting at a circular table that was covered in stacks of papers.

Hermione was busy scratching something out on a piece of parchment and then double-checking a figure when Harry cleared his throat. She looked up and smiled brightly, adjusting her bushy-haired ponytail, so it hung down her back and out of her face.

"Harry, I'm so glad you're here to help me sort through this mess," she said, relieved.

"What exactly is it that we're doing?" Harry asked. He walked up to the table, picked up a sheaf of parchment and shuffled through it. Everything looked the same to him. He didn't know how Hermione always talked him into going along with her cockamamie schemes.

Hermione lifted a stack of papers and set it upon another stack. She blew a loose strand of hair out of her face. "We're looking into suspicious Muggle deaths that occurred during the war to see if we can match them up to Death Eater activity. The Muggles deserve some restitution."

Harry rolled his eyes. "It was five years ago, Hermione, almost six. You can't solve these crimes and then go up to Muggles and tell them, 'Oh, by the way. Your father who died of a heart attack was actually a victim of war,' they'd never believe it. I think it's best to leave well enough alone."

Hermione huffed. "You said you'd help me, Harry James Potter! So stop whining and help me."

"Fine," Harry said, picking up another sheaf of papers and looking through it. He sorted it into Hermione's supposed 'heart attack' pile and picked up the next one.

"So, what have you been up to, Harry?" Hermione asked. "You didn't make it to Saturday breakfast this week." She filed Muggle police reports quickly, shuffling stacks and colour coding her checklist.

"I've been a bit busy," Harry said noncommittally. "Please don't ask me what I'm doing, I don't want to lie to you. I just want some life to myself for a week or so." Harry tossed his fringe nervously, trying to gauge Hermione's reaction to what he'd said.

"Okay, that sounds reasonable," said Hermione in her no-nonsense voice.

"Really?" Harry asked. "You're not going to fight me on this or demand to know what I'm doing? You're not going to sic Ron and the other Aurors on my tail, are you?" Harry asked, disbelieving her. She just had such a habit of sticking her nose into Harry's business, he was paranoid that she might find out about Draco.

"Really," Hermione reiterated. "I know that you value your privacy and you don't get much because of the reporters from the _Prophet_ following you around all the time. I will let you have a week to yourself and I promise I won't bug you about it." She adjusted her piles so they were stacked neatly and began to count them, checking off marks on her master list.

While Hermione was double-checking everything, Harry opened a sheaf of papers and the name caught his eye. —Francis McDougall, Bludgeoning— read the police transcript. Harry looked up, confused. He read through the report in silence, growing more and more unnerved.

Apparently McDougall was bludgeoned to death with a leg of his own coffee table. There was no sign of forced entry, the door was bolted from the inside and there were traces of a Severing Charm on the table leg.

"Hermione, how old are these documents?" Harry asked, curious.

Hermione pulled the tie from her bushy hair and shook her head. "Ah, that feels much better. These are unsolved Muggle deaths that took place during the last war. A lot of them may have been committed by the Death Eaters."

"Did you know Francis McDougall was a Muggle?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked at him, confused. "Of course he's a Muggle, Harry. For goodness sake, you just went over to his house the other day, didn't you?"

"No, that's not what I mean," Harry said, on edge. "I mean look at this report here, it says Francis McDougall was killed under suspicious magical circumstances. This happened six years ago, right before I defeated Voldemort."

"You mean to say," Hermione said, gathering her hair up once again and tying it back, "that you don't think the novelist is who he says he is?"

"I _know_ he's not who he says he is," said Harry. "I just thought McDougall was his pen-name."

"Do you know _who_ he really is?" asked Hermione, excitedly. She pulled out her tablet of parchment and quill to begin taking notes.

"Not just yet, Hermione," Harry said, looking over the police report again. "I want to give him a chance to explain himself first."

"Harry," Hermione said, bringing her tablet down on her lap angrily. She blew a stray strand of hair out of her face. "I know you idolise this writer, but if he's somehow involved with the real McDougall's death, it could be dangerous for you to—"

"Hermione. I spent two years in Auror training with Ron. I think I can handle myself. Just—just let me look into this on my own first." Harry folded up the police report, shrunk it down and slipped it into his jeans pocket.

"Harry, you aren't listening to me. This could be a big break for us. Let Ron or one of the other Aurors handle the questioning. You didn't finish training, I think it's a mistake for you to—"

"I'm sleeping with him, Hermione," Harry said sharply.

Hermione dropped her tablet. It thudded to the floor and spilled out like a fan against the concrete. "What?" she asked, aghast.

"You heard. Now let me do this. There has to be an explanation. It could be that he doesn't even know there was another Francis McDougall, and it really could just be a pen-name," Harry pleaded. He stood up and walked to the door.

"How long, Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice quiet and sad.

"How long what?" Harry asked, turning around to face her.

"How long have you fancied blokes? Here I've been foolish enough to think that you might be spending time with me because… but never matter. How long have you known you were gay?"

"Er..." Harry stammered. Had Hermione just admitted that she liked him more than a normal friend? "Well, I guess I'm just bi. I like women just fine, but this guy… It's like I can't help but be drawn to him. It's almost like it's against my will. I'm uh, sorry I never told you." He shuffled his weight from one foot to the next, nervous.

"This is why you wanted a week to yourself then?" asked Hermione. "You want to spend a week with this Muggle writer." She bent down to retrieve her tablet and smooth out the pages.

"Look Hermione, I—"

"Just go, Harry. I can do the rest of this by myself," Hermione said, growing hysterical. "Deal with whatever you want. We'll talk about it later."

"Er—yeah," Harry mumbled. He fetched his small trunk. "Later, 'Mione," he said, and shut the door to the Hall of Records, letting it thud behind him. He packed his trunk under his arm and headed for the Atrium, shaking his head at his own stupidity.


	6. Chapter 6

"No, I won't go through with it," Draco said, squashing his cigarette in the tray beside his laptop with extra relish.

"Draco," said Blaise Zabini. "The Greengrasses were neutral during the war. It would be a way for you to re-enter wizarding society with your head held high, not to mention your vaults doubled."

Draco scowled and looked up at his old friend who was dressed sharply in dark pinstriped robes. "Don't you have some other important business to attend to, now that you're Minister for Magic? Don't waste your time with me; I won't budge." He opened his laptop, deliberately ignoring his friend and returned to the screen. "I have work to do, even if you don't," he said, voice sharp and dismissive.

"At least think about it," Blaise pleaded. "Your mother is very concerned for your well-being and so am I. You're the only person I can truly call friend, and you mean the world to me. I just want you to be happy." Blaise picked up his briefcase and headed for the lounge's fireplace.

"Tell this Astoria to grow a cock and some balls and then come talk to me again," Draco called after him, no longer caring about the repercussions of coming out to his friend.

Blaise turned around slowly, looking around Draco's lounge as if he was seeing it for the first time, with all of its male nudes. "You can't be serious," he said, voice cracking. "Draco, you're going to break your mother's heart. You're her _only_ child."

"Do you think I don't know that?" Draco spat. "I'm done with the wizarding world, done with wearing masks for people. I live in the Muggle world now and I can be myself here. So don't bother me with this rejoining wizarding society bullshit any longer."

"Right," said Blaise, looking fit to kill. "We'll talk about this later. You've gotta work through it. I care about what happens to you. It's not—well, it's not because of _what_ happened to you, is it?"

"No!" Draco shouted. "Scram and don't bother me about the past! Leave it buried if you care about me so much!" Draco pulled his second-to-last cigarette out of his pack and wandlessly lit it with a nonverbal spell.

"I have a meeting to make, but I _will_ be back. You can't drop a dungbomb on a mate and expect to just get away with it without some explanation." Blaise took some Floo powder from a shell on the mantle and Flooed away.

Moments later the Floo activated again and Draco slapped himself in the head with his hand. "What did you forget? Going to threaten me now?"

Harry stepped out of the fireplace, set his trunk down and dusted himself off. "No, I'm not going to threaten you, but you have some explaining to do," he said calmly.

"Potter!" Draco said, voice dripping venom. "You said you'd give me the day to myself. I've been trying to write, but for all these interruptions."

"Why? Who was just here?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"That's none of your damned business, Potter. Now bugger off so I can get to work on the novels you so love to read."

Harry strode into the dining room and pulled out the chair to Draco's right, so he was facing the window. He sat down.

Draco took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke in Harry's face. "I thought I told you to get out of here."

"We need to talk," Harry said seriously, waving the smoke away.

Draco scoffed. "If this is about last night, it didn't happen as far as I'm concerned, and—"

"This has nothing to do with last night," Harry said sharply.

Draco slammed his laptop shut and put out his cigarette. He poured himself another glass of Firewhiskey and downed half of it in one go. "I can't talk to you sober."

"Tell me about Francis McDougall, the Muggle," Harry said, calmly

Draco blanched and finished his drink. "What Muggle?" he asked sarcastically. "It's a pen-name, Potter. I thought you might have figured that out." He knew he was in deep shit. His past had finally caught up to him, and in the form of Harry bloody Potter no less. Draco reached for his last cigarette, trying hard to control the shaking of his hands.

Harry pulled the shrunken police report out of his pocket and poked it with his wand. " _Engorgio_." The paper returned to its normal size and Harry handed it to Draco, eyes firmly making contact with Draco's. "Would you care to explain this?" said Harry bitterly. He handed the parchment to Draco.

Draco read through the police report and handed it back to Harry. "And this has to do with me, how?" he asked, putting on a aloof air, even though he was shaken to his core. He didn't want to relive the horror.

"Don't fuck around with me, Malfoy. Did you or did you not have anything to do with this Muggle's murder?" Harry asked sternly, emerald eyes blazing.

Draco felt the familiar sensation of a silent _Legilimens_ , and closed Harry out as quickly as he could, but too late. Harry saw him bring the table leg down on the Muggle man's head. "Look, Potter, I can explain—"

"There's nothing to explain," Harry said coldly. "I never thought _you_ were capable of murder."

Draco scowled. "Then you underestimate the Dark Lord and his hold over people," said Draco, shivering from the brief glimpse he had accidentally let Potter see.

Harry stood up and began to pace the dining room, nervously rubbing his hands together. Draco watched him, finishing his fag and putting it out. He felt like he had bugs crawling under his skin, he was so nervous, but he wasn't going to let Potter see that.

"How could you possibly explain a murder to me and expect me to not turn you in?" Harry asked, stumbling over his words.

"He was raping me," Draco said, voice sharp and clear. His body shook as he remembered the feel of the clammy hands on his torso and the crack of the man's skull as he brought the table leg down upon it.

Harry stopped moving and stared at Draco. "Are you telling the truth?"

"Yes!" Draco shouted. "Why would I make something like that up? How much more can you get off on humiliating me?"

Draco watched Harry stare at his feet and listened as he quietly spoke. "I don't get off on it. I don't even mean to humiliate you. I just want to clear your name and if that is the true story, I think we'll be able to."

"Oh, no! No you don't, Potter. I'm not going back to the wizarding world. I don't want the fact that I was almost raped by a Muggle plastered all over the _Prophet_. I just want to live a quiet life and I want you to go away and leave me to it." Draco breathed heavily, feeling the panic rise up in him and wishing to God that Potter would leave him alone so he could have his episode in peace.

"Draco? Are you all right?" Harry asked.

Draco felt his breath leaving him, he gasped for air, unable to get enough and was soon seeing sparkles all about him as his vision darkened and went black.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself staring into the bright green eyes of Harry Potter, looming over his face. He was in bed. "What happened?" he choked, feeling his head splitting with pain, throbbing behind his eyeballs.

"You passed out," Potter said, still looking down at him. If Draco didn't know better he'd say that Potter was about ready to kiss him. He scooted himself up into a sitting position, forcing Potter to move back. "Can I see it?" Potter asked.

"What?" said Draco. "Can you see what?" He tried to remain flippant, but he felt his chest tightening up again. "Potter, get me my whiskey. The one on the sideboard. It has the strongest tranquiliser."

Potter looked at him, concerned, and then got up to fetch the Firewhiskey. Draco checked his pyjama bottoms to make sure he hadn't wet them and, finding them dry, crawled beneath the covers to warm up.

Potter came back in with the bottle and handed it to Draco. Draco took a long swig directly from the bottle and savoured the burn as it went down his throat. He felt himself beginning to calm. "Thanks, Potter."

"Can I have a drink from that?" Harry asked nervously. Draco figured he must be nervous to be in the same room as a killer. Potter hadn't even killed the Dark Lord, he was only there for the Dark Lord to kill himself upon for a second time. There was no way Potter would understand what it was like to have blood on your hands, on your body. No way he would see Draco as anything other than a killer now.

Draco watched as Potter drank and visibly relaxed. He reached out and grabbed the bottle. It was strong stuff and not to be wasted. Potter toed off his shoes and climbed over Draco to sit beside him in the bed, beneath the covers. Draco suddenly felt under-dressed and slightly nervous again, being next to the man he'd hated for so long and who had given him the best shag of his life. He took another long swig from the bottle, trying to shake the images of how sexy Potter looked when he came. His memories flooded back.

"Can I see it?" Harry repeated, and Draco looked up at him, slightly spinning.

"What is it you want to see? What do you want from me?" Draco asked, hoping that Harry would drop the subject of the near-rape and subsequent murder. Maybe if Draco seduced him, he would forget all about it. Draco dropped the sheet that he had tucked beneath his armpits, and let Harry have full view of his bare torso.

"I want to see—er—what happened to you," Harry said, glancing down at Draco's hardening nipples.

"I don't want you to see," Draco said, leaning in closer to Harry. "I don't want anybody to see," he whispered, looking into Harry's eyes.

"Draco, what are you doing?" Harry asked.

Draco shook himself, wondering what exactly it was that he was doing. Oh yes, he remembered: seducing Potter. He ran his hand down Harry's hip and leg, grabbing his inner thigh through the thick material of his jeans.

Harry groaned. "No," he said, moving Draco's hand away. "You don't want this, this isn't you."

Draco looked at Harry, confused. Yes he did want this. He wanted every bit of Potter, he just didn't want to admit it. The alcohol made it so much easier to express himself and helped him to drop the masks he wore.

"Yes, this is me," Draco whispered, putting his hand back and tracking it up Harry's thigh to his groin. "This is the real me, I promise."

Harry pressed himself against Draco's palm and Draco smiled and leaned in to kiss him.

"No, Draco. It's not right. I can't do this until I'm sure you're telling the truth."

Draco felt lost in Harry's eyes and the swirling effects of the tranquiliser. He set the bottle he'd been holding with his left hand down on the bedside table and got up on his knees, facing Harry. He climbed on to Harry's lap and held onto his arms with his hands. "If I let you see, will you still let me fuck you?" Draco asked, scared of being rejected.

"Yeah," Harry said, nodding. "I want you to, but I want proof first that you only killed in self-defence."

Draco took a big breath and let it out with a shudder. "I've opened my mind and pushed the memory to the front. I'm thinking about it right now. Go ahead and _Legilimise_ me."

He felt the probing tendrils of Harry's mind, worming their way into his thoughts. He let them come.

>   
>  _He struggled beneath the heavy older man, reaching for his wand which lay across the floor as the man lifted his robes and tugged at his trousers. "Get off me!" he roared. "Help!" Nobody came, though he knew they were watching._   
> 

>   
>  _The man's breath was hot and putrid in his face, burning his eyes with the acidic smell of cheap Muggle beer. "Come on, pretty boy. You came over just for this, so stop your struggling and let me fuck your pretty white arse," the man said with a low growl._   
> 

>   
>  _"No, no, stop," Draco cried out, tears streaming down his face. " _Accio_ ," he called helplessly, still reaching for his wand, even as the man tugged up on his shirt and began teasing his nipples. Desperate, Draco reached for whatever he could, arms flailing and finally coming to rest on the leg of a coffee table. " _Diffindo_ ," he screamed at the table and the leg came off. He swung it once across the man's head, heard his skull crack and watched as blood and brain begin to ooze out from a large hole in the man's balding head._   
> 

>   
>  _Draco struggled beneath the heavy lifeless body and finally freed himself, crying and sore. He was a disgrace, but he'd achieved his objective and killed the Muggle._   
> 

Draco sat back on Harry's thighs gasping, heart hammering in his chest at having just relived one of the most terrifying experiences of his life.

"Wait," Harry said, eyes growing dark, even as Draco continued to hiccough and tears spilled down his face. "You went to his house in order to kill him, it was an accident that he almost raped you." Harry pushed Draco off him disgustedly.

"I knew it," Draco cried. "I knew you would be like this. I was supposed to kill him, yes. If I didn't, they were going to kill my mother. They were watching, just outside, just waiting for me to screw up and they laughed their arses off when the Muggle man overpowered me. They just sat there and let it happen. Harry, I had no choice."

Harry looked up at the sound of his name. "Why did you take his name for your pen-name?" Harry asked, a confused expression gracing his face.

Draco bowed his head and wiped the tears off his face with his hand. "I wanted to remember that I had killed someone. Someone with a name. Even though he was a rapist Muggle, I killed him and it only seemed fitting that I should be forever burdened with the gravity of what I did. So I chose his name, it helps remind me of the person I never want to be again. That's why I left the wizarding world. I needed to get rid of all reminders of the war and just live with my guilt, quietly as a Muggle."

"I'm still going to have to report the murder to the Minister for Magic, Draco," Harry said, lifting Draco's pointed chin with his hand.

Draco slowly nodded and reached for the bottle once more, but Harry stopped him with a hand on his arm. "You don't need any more of that stuff," Harry said. "If you don't stop drinking, you'll just end up shagging me again and then being disgusted with yourself for having done it."

Draco shook his head ever so slightly. "I'm not disgusted. I was embarrassed," he admitted. "How the hell could you and me ever hook up? It just seems so, I dunno—we're just so opposite. You're light and I'm dark; you're good and I'm bad; you're the saviour and I'm a murderer. It could never work out. But that doesn't mean I don't want you."

"That doesn't mean I don't want you either," Harry said, running his hand down Draco's bare torso.

"You're going to turn me in for murder," scoffed Draco. "You don't want me, my body, maybe, but never me." Draco leaned into Harry's touch and bent forward to capture his lips.

The kiss was light at first and Draco felt exhilarated at the touch of Harry's lips, but Harry broke it off short.

"Don't tease me," Harry said. "You know how much I want you. If you're just going to get me worked up and then freak out about it, I don't want to play."

Draco drew back and looked Harry in the eye. "You could still get worked up over me, even though you know that I'm a murderer?" he asked, hopeful. Now that the truth about his past had been shared between them, Draco felt closer to Harry, inexplicably so. He wanted Harry's body, wanted to fuck. Maybe it was the drugged alcohol that was making him feel so comfortable, but Draco didn't care. He was so tolerant of the stuff; it just took away his inhibitions.

Harry sat back against the headboard, looking up at the ceiling, while Draco sat on his feet, facing him nervously.

"Yeah," Harry finally said, bringing his face down so he was looking at Draco. "Yeah, even if you did kill someone in the past, I still want you. I'm falling for you, Draco, even with your bad mood swings and mixed signals. I can't explain why, but you've always drawn my attention."

Draco was painfully hard and growing harder as he looked at the messy black hair and bright green eyes of Harry. He sat forward and took Harry's glasses off and set them on the bedside table. He leaned over to the table and took the lube out of the drawer and set it on top, then returned to Harry.

"What are you doing?" asked Harry, a wry smile on his lips.

Draco stretched out beside him and pushed himself into Harry's hip, leaning forward, nibbling on Harry's earlobe. "I want you," he breathed. "I want to be inside you."

Harry groaned beside him and turned over to face him, faces inches apart. "You're not just doing this to try to get me not to turn you in for murder, are you?" he asked, brow creased with worry.

Draco reached up to smooth Harry's wild hair with his hand. He trailed his fingers down the side of Harry's stubbly face, to the neck of his t-shirt, which he toyed with. "No. I knew my past would catch up with me eventually; just be sure to talk with the Minister for Magic about it personally. He already knows what happened."

"What?" Harry asked. He held the hand that was playing with his shirt. "How does Zabini know about this already?"

Draco sighed and reclaimed his hand, running his fingers through his hair. "He was a mate at the time. He took care of me after it happened. If it hadn't been for him, I would have killed myself." Draco turned over to get his pack of smokes off the bedside table. He lit one. "After the war ended, Blaise suggested that I try and live as a Muggle for a while, to get away from the anti-Death Eater movement that was happening. He didn't realise that I'd actually like it and now he's trying to get me to come back."

He picked up the bottle of spiked Firewhiskey and took another shot from it.

"Pass that over here," said Harry. Draco passed him the bottle and Harry took a large drink. "This stuff is certainly relaxing; why do you spike your Firewhiskey with tranquilisers?"

Draco looked over to Harry and took the bottle from him. He didn't want to tell Harry that he had panic attacks and night terrors. "Medicinal reasons," he said and hoped Harry would drop the subject. He took a long drag on his cigarette and a draught from his bottle, then stamped out the fag. He held the bottle next to his silk-clad thigh. "Why are you here, Potter?"

Harry looked at Draco, confused. "Why am I here right now or in general?"

Draco thought about it for a moment. "Both."

"Well, I'm here for the week, because I blackmailed you into letting me stay, and I'm here right now because there's no other place I want to be." He reached over and took Draco's bottle away. He set it on the bedside table on his side and returned to Draco, pushing him back against the headboard and straddling his thighs. He leaned in and took Draco's lips, letting his tongue run along the bottom one.

Draco shuddered as Harry's hands traveled down his naked torso and began to play at the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. He opened his mouth and let Harry's tongue inside, kissing back, trembling with want.

Draco felt amazing as Harry sought out every hot spot in his mouth, massaging his gums with his tongue so they tickled and sent an electrical signal running throughout the nerves in his body. He thrust his hips, erection now tenting his bottoms, seeking some friction.

He pulled Harry's hips forward by the belt loops on his jeans, so their erections could rub together. He groaned at the sensation and broke the kiss, panting. "Potter, I want to fuck you," he said, voice low and dangerous.

He watched Harry pull back and look down at him as he ground his erection into Draco's. Draco sat up and held onto Harry's back, deftly flipping him over, so he was lying between his legs.

He struggled to get Harry's t-shirt off him until Harry finally pulled it over his head and flung it to the ground. Draco kissed at Harry's pert brown nipples, nipping at them gently to the sounds of Harry moaning and the feel of Harry's denim-covered hardness, poking him in the stomach. He reached down and unfastened Harry's jeans, sneaking his hand inside to massage Harry's erection through his boxers.

"Ung, Draco," Harry whimpered. "Harder."

Draco worked him up and down, finally giving in to his urge to see Harry naked. He scooted backwards and pulled Harry's jeans and boxers down to his knees, revealing his purpling erection as it strained upwards.

Draco finished undressing Harry and slipped out of his bottoms. He licked his lips at the sight of Harry's weeping cock and closed his mouth over the top of it, savoring the raw smell and the sharp taste of Harry's pre-come. "Mmm," he moaned around the cock in his mouth, causing Harry to buck his hips into Draco's face.

"Draco, oh—" Harry whimpered, bringing his hand down to run his fingers through Draco's blond, silken locks. Draco loved to have his hair touched. It felt so good, pleasure running through his scalp and down through his body. He pulled off Harry's cock with a 'pop' and summoned the lubricant. He slathered his fingers and began to tease at Harry's opening with his cold, lubed hand, making Harry still beneath him and open his legs wider.

"Do you like that, Potter?" Draco asked, slipping his middle finger inside and gently fucking Harry with it.

"Yeah," Harry breathed, pushing back against Draco's hand as if trying to fill himself even further.

Draco slipped another finger inside and moved them around, searching for Harry's prostate.

"Ahh, right there!" Harry cried. "Fuck; fuck me, Draco. Do it now!"

Draco's aching need throbbed at the desperation in Harry's voice. He withdrew his fingers and wiped them on the duvet. Draco rose up onto his knees and slicked his cock. "You want this, Potter? You want my thick long cock to fill your arse?

"Yes, Draco; please," Harry pleaded. He spread his thighs as far as they would go and showed Draco his stretched hole, winking to be filled.

Draco groaned at the sight of seeing Harry so wanton. The alcohol in his bloodstream fuelled his desire and he wanted Harry more than anything he'd ever wanted before. Harry was such a good submissive. Powerful Harry Potter liked to take it up the arse. The thought chased Draco, and he held onto Harry's raised ankles and pushed inside with one great thrust.

"Ung," Harry cried out, and Draco stilled his movements, breathing hard as he tried not to come from being inside Harry's velvet warmth alone. "I'm ready, Draco," Harry said desperately, and Draco began to move.

Draco felt incredible, buried balls-deep inside Harry. He wondered why he had ever thought this to be a bad idea.

Soon, the sound of slapping flesh as Draco's hips met Harry's, and the smell of sex filled the room. They were both breathing heavily and Harry chanted Draco's name, driving Draco into a frenzy.

Draco felt himself break out in a sheen of sweat and watched as Harry's hole swallowed him, his thick cock reddening with engorgement, disappearing into Harry's body in tight bursts of exertion. Harry's cock wept against his stomach as he stroked it in time with Draco's thrusting. Draco held on to Harry's ankles tightly, as if they were the only thing keeping him upright. He felt like he was melting.

They were one and it was fantastic. Draco looked up at Harry's face, contorted with pleasure, his green eyes wide and focused on Draco. Draco couldn't help but smile at that. He'd never felt so complete before. He let his hips snap forward and back until he felt the familiar pool of pleasure build in his belly and with a few short thrusts, perspiration running down his face, he came with a loud groan.

The sensation of coming was so intense, like two magnets being pulled together by an invisible but strong force. He thought he'd never stop coming as rope after rope shuddered out of his body and into Harry's.

He watched Harry tug on his cock a few more times and then come, in thick white stripes over his belly and nearly hairless chest. His expression held pure pleasure in it as his mouth was wide open and panting and his nostrils flared as he fought for breath.

Draco felt dizzy looking into Harry's crisp green eyes as they bored tunnels into Draco's slate-grey ones. Draco felt like he if he died right now, everything would be perfect. He didn't want to withdraw, but as his cock softened, he did, a thick string of white come clinging to his cock-head. He watched, growing aroused again as his semen spilled out after him between Harry's cheeks and made the hairs on his skin stick together.

Draco couldn't stop himself; he lowered his face to Harry's hole, holding his legs open wide and licked at the rim, spilling with his release. The taste of himself and Harry's unique musk mixed together was intoxicating and Draco delved inside with his tongue, drinking his own come.

"Ahh," Harry called from above. "What are you doing? God! That feels incredible!" Draco chuckled into Harry's arse, knowing the reverberating sensation would further Harry's pleasure. He briefly wondered why pleasuring Potter was so important to him, then chalked it up to the alcohol.

He dropped Harry's legs and rose above him, slithering between his thighs and pressing his chest against Harry's come-coated one, smearing the stickiness between their bodies. The smell of come was strong, and Draco relished it, loving the feel sticky, sweaty sex. His face was inches above Harry's and he stared down into the dark pools of Harry's dilated pupils.

"Well, if nothing else, you're good for a fantastic shag, Potter," he said, as nonchalantly as he could. He was warring within himself as to whether or not he had feelings for Harry. On the one hand, he couldn't deny that he enjoyed pleasing him, but on the other, Harry was blackmailing his way into Draco's life and Draco wanted nothing to do with the wizarding world.

Harry panted beneath him, taking his time trying to control his breathing. Draco could feel the thudding of his heart against his and they beat to the same, fast-paced rhythm.

Looking at Harry's lips, pink and soft and supple, Draco leaned in to take his mouth in a kiss, the sweetness of Harry's mouth mixing with the bitter taste of come. They snogged for what felt like hours, Draco growing more and more aroused with each passing minute.

He was fully erect once more and pressed himself against Harry's hardening organ, grinding against him in a slippery, sticky slide. Draco broke the kiss, revelling in the feel of Harry's hot hands caressing his back. "I want you again, Harry," he said, knowing that it was the complete truth and that try as he might, he couldn't blame it on the alcohol.

Harry cracked a grin. "How do you want me?" he asked coyly.

Draco moaned and gave Harry's cock another healthy grind. "Turn over. I want you on your hands and knees."


	7. Chapter 7

The following morning, Harry awoke feeling sated and sticky. His arse throbbed from the pounding Draco had given him the night before, but he loved the sensation. Draco was wrapped around his back, one arm thrown over Harry's chest and one leg tangled with Harry's, his morning wood poking Harry in the bum. Harry didn't want to stir, he loved the feeling of being cuddled and he loved the fact that it was Draco that was doing it. But he needed to piss again, and so he gently lifted Draco's arm and extricated himself from Draco's leg, leaving him lying on his side, his hand searching the bed for the warm body that had been there.

Harry watched Draco open sleepy eyes and smile up at him. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice more gentle than Harry ever imagined it could be.

He looked down at Draco's tussled blond hair and his sleepy face. Harry found the pointed nose and chin that he had despised for so many years charming and beautiful on Draco's face. He answered, lying on his side, propping himself up on an elbow. "I've gotta take a piss and have a shower," he said and then dropped his voice, hating what he had to say next. "And then I'd like you to come to the Ministry of Magic with me to see Zabini about Francis McDougall."

Draco's face paled, showing pink blotches on his cheeks. "No. I'm not setting foot in the Ministry. You'll have to go on your own."

"We'll talk about it when I get out of the shower, yeah?" said Harry as he climbed off Draco's huge bed. He went to use the toilet and sat for a full ten minutes, thinking about all the possible scenarios that might play out during his visit. He felt ill, but knew he had to report what he'd found out.

~*~

Harry sat before Minister Zabini's large oak desk in his office, the police report shrunk and hidden in his jeans pocket. Zabini's black hair was parted to the side and framed his young olive-skinned face attractively. This was the first time Harry had ever been alone with the man, having met him on several occasions before during public ceremonies where they'd shared the stage for making speeches. They had attended Hogwarts together, but Harry never really knew him, since he had been in Slytherin house.

Harry was nervous about what was to happen. Sure, Draco said Zabini already knew about the murder, that he'd been the one to help Draco go into hiding, but now that Hermione and he had unearthed the truth, he wasn't sure Zabini would be able to not put Draco on trial.

"Harry Potter," Zabini said smoothly. "To what do I owe the privilege of your company this morning?"

"Er," Harry said, unsure of where to begin. Even with all of his public speaking practice, he still found the formalities of speaking with public figureheads formidable. "I've been working with Hermione Granger on some police reports of suspicious Muggle deaths and I've discovered that a particular wizard was responsible for one Muggle's murder."

"Very good, Potter," Zabini said, sitting up straighter in his leather wingback chair. "Who is it?"

Harry felt sweat trickle down his spine beneath the Muggle t-shirt he was wearing. He wiped his brow. "It's uh—Draco Malfoy, Minister," he said, voice shaking slightly with nerves.

Zabini didn't move, didn't speak for a full minute. When he did speak, his voice was sharp and cold. "What evidence do you have that Draco Malfoy murdered anybody? Are you sure you're not just taking your Hogwarts grudge against him too far?"

Harry pulled the police report out of his pocket with sweaty palms and enlarged it. He handed it to Zabini. "I know Draco Malfoy is posing as a Muggle novelist under the pen-name, Francis McDougall. I am a big fan of his books and I went to look him up, only to discover that it was Malfoy writing the books. When Hermione and I were working in the Hall of Records on suspicious Muggle deaths, I found this police report with Francis McDougall's name on it."

Zabini looked down at the report and then back up at Harry, black eyes flashing. "Is that all the proof you have?" Zabini asked coldly. "Just because Draco shares a name with this Muggle, doesn't prove he has anything to do with this Muggle's death."

"I know that," Harry said, adjusting the collar of his t-shirt to be more comfortable. "I asked Malfoy about it, and he allowed me to use Legiimency on him in order to prove the murder had been in self-defence." Harry swallowed hard. He really didn't want to get Draco into trouble with the law, but his sense of justice was stronger than his libido.

"Draco let you Legilimise him?" Zabini asked in disbelief. "He never lets _anybody_ fuck with his head, so don't lie to me, Potter. You did it against his will, didn't you?"

"No, I swear I didn't," Harry said, surprised that Zabini had turned the tables on him. "He let me see. I'm staying with him for this week as a repayment of his life debt and he showed me."

Zabini narrowed his eyes shrewdly. "Are you sleeping with him?" Zabini asked. "Tell me the truth." He set the report down on the desk and folded his hands on top of it, waiting for Harry to answer.

Harry realised he hadn't planned this conversation out very well, and was trapped into telling the truth. "Yes, I am. But I don't see how that is of concern to the Ministry."

Zabini unfolded his hands and placed them, palms down on the desk, rising forward on them threateningly. "It is of concern to _me_ ," he said. "I don't want you to see Draco any more. Do you understand? A homosexual relationship is not conducive to his return to wizarding society, even if it is with the Golden Boy. Draco is betrothed to Astoria Greengrass, and if he has any shred of decency left in him, he will marry her this year and produce an heir for his mother. She is concerned about him as am I, and you have no business blackmailing him into sleeping with you as a payment for a life debt."

"Pardon me, Minister, but what goes on between Draco and me is of our concern only," Harry insisted. "He has made it plain to me that he has no plans or desire to return to wizarding society, so I suggest you let him make his decisions for himself. I'm here about the murder. It was in self-defence, but it was also premeditated and he should stand trial for it, according to the law."

Zabini sat back in his chair, a wry smile gracing his lips. "You are a real piece of work, Potter. You want to turn your lover in for murder and see him locked up in Azkaban. It makes no sense." He picked up the police report and held it, dangling between two fingers. "And here's what I think of this report." He pointed his wand at it. " _Incendio_." The paper burst into flame and was a long ash in the blink of an eye. "It never happened. Stay away from Draco and let him live his life in peace; you are dismissed."

Zabini placed his hand on a small crystal ball that sat on the corner of the desk. He spoke into it. "Will you please escort Mr. Potter from the Ministry?" His voice was back to its original suave tone. Two large wizards dressed in blue robes entered the room. "Good day, Mr. Potter," Zabini said smugly, and Harry allowed himself to be led to the Atrium, where he used the Apparation point to return to Draco's house.

He was amazed by what he'd just witnessed, but relieved that Draco would not have to stand trial. He had done his job and Draco was not punished; it couldn't have gone better in that respect. Harry had no intention of leaving Draco though, until his week was out, and he still had five days left.

~*~

Draco sat at his laptop, typing up a sex scene for his new novel while he waited for Harry to return with his judgment. He was ninety percent sure that Blaise would cover for him, but there was still a risk that he'd have to return to the wizarding world and stand trial. The prospect terrified him. He re-read the last passage, having hit a block, and tried to imagine what should come next.

> Rhys cried out as he plunged into Zeke's tight warmth, spilling into his body with a shout, experiencing such fucking hot feelings of relief and satisfaction that he saw stars blink behind his eyelids. Zeke panted as Rhys pulled out quickly and he felt himself being flipped over onto his back, his cock taken into a hot, sucking mouth.

> Rhys inserted two fingers, pumping them into Zeke's wet and loosened hole, caressing the tight bundle of nerves, stimulating them with each push. He suckled the head of Zeke's cock at the same time, running his tongue beneath the ridge and flattening it with his tongue.

> Zeke pushed himself in all the way, feeling alive and whole as he came down Rhys' throat with a loud groan.

It definitely needed work, but Draco found it hard to concentrate. He poured himself another splash of Firewhiskey and lit a cigarette. He let the smoke escape his mouth in blue curling tendrils. He watched them until they faded into a cloud, and then repeated the process with another drag. He scratched at the fine trail of hair that led from his navel to his pyjama bottoms and then adjusted himself. It was hard not to be turned on by writing homoerotica, and he wished Harry would hurry up and get home, not so he could find out what happened as far as the murder charges were concerned, but so they could fuck. He decided that if he was stuck with Potter for the next five days, he'd at least get a lot of hot sex out of the deal.

He stamped his fag out in the ashtray and cracked his knuckles, getting ready to write some more, when the doorbell rang. He picked up his whiskey and downed it, before getting up to answer the door. He figured it must be the post.

Once the door was opened, he found himself face to face with the angry brown eyes of Hermione Granger glowering at him from behind the screen.

"What do you want, Granger?" Draco asked icily.

Hermione's expression morphed into shock. "Malfoy?" she said. " _You're_ Francis McDougall?" She shook her head in disbelief, growing hysterical. "Harry is sleeping with _you_? This is impossible!"

"Calm down, Granger," Draco said snappishly. "You're attracting the attention of the neighbours."

Hermione started hyperventilating, forcing Draco to open the screen and escort her into his house. He guided her to the puffy white leather sofa and pushed her down on it. "Put your head between your knees and breathe," he instructed angrily. "Potter will be back soon and then you can talk to him." Draco looked down at Hermione distastefully, as she was making a spectacle of herself. He'd never seen Granger lose it like this before. "If you'll excuse me, I have some writing to do."

He turned on his heel and passed the wooden built-in room dividers on his way back to his laptop, leaving Hermione on the sofa trying to calm her breathing as tears poured down her face. She looked around the room at all of Draco's nude male decorations and began to hyperventilate once more.

~*~

> Rhys rose above Zeke's body and lay atop him, pulling him into a loving, yet forceful embrace, latching onto his neck, sucking hard enough to bruise.

> Zeke lifted his hands to Rhys' chest, gently pushing him off onto his side, curling around his back and tracing the taut brown nipples of his chest, pinching and circling them with his long, paint stained fingers.

Draco stopped typing when Harry came in through the front door. He looked up as Harry came into the dining room. "Well—" Harry began.

"Potter, you have a visitor," said Draco. He reached for his cigarettes and shook one out of the pack. He lit up and blew the smoke, then pointed to the lounge. Harry turned around.

"Hermione?" Harry asked. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione jumped to her feet angrily, walked over to Harry and slapped him across the face. "I might ask you the same thing, Harry James Potter!" she shrieked.

"Get out, both of you," said Draco, calmly smoking his cigarette. "Use my Floo and take this lovers' spat to your house; I'm trying to write."

"I cannot believe you are staying here with _him_!" Hermione shouted. "Couldn't it have been anybody else?" Hermione broke down into tears again, and buried her head against Harry's chest. Harry brought his arms up to circle her back.

"Come on, 'Mione," Harry said, looking at Draco over Hermione's head. "Let's go to my place and we'll talk, yeah?"

Hermione sniffled and Harry led her to the fireplace.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief after they had Flooed away. He chuckled to himself. It was so obvious that Granger had it bad for Potter, but Potter preferred his cock to her. He smirked, feeling like he'd won, and then realised he was thinking about Harry as a prize. He smashed his cigarette into the tray and got up to fetch a beer from the fridge. He didn't want to think about his revelation, he'd much rather be drunk.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione sat at Harry's red Formica and chrome kitchen table, sniffling, while Harry bustled about preparing tea.

"How could you, Harry?" Hermione spat, swinging back into anger. "I could understand you wanting to be with someone other than me, but Draco Malfoy? How thick can you get?" She bunched up her bushy brown hair and fastened a band around it that she had worn on her wrist, pulling it back in a ponytail. Her face was a blotchy red and she had tear tracks dried on her cheeks.

"Stop, just stop, 'Mione," Harry pleaded, setting a cup of tea on the table before her. He poured himself a cup and sat down to her left.

Hermione folded her arms and pursed her lips.

"I'm falling for him," Harry said quietly, "hard. He's complicated and closed up, but I think I'm starting to break through some of the walls he's built up around himself. I want your blessing, Hermione." Harry ran his hand through his thick black hair, disheveling it more than it already was.

"What about Francis McDougall?" Hermione asked. "The dead Muggle. Did Malfoy have anything to do with his death?" She kept her arms folded and began to swing one of her legs which she had crossed.

Harry weighed his options; he was such a poor liar when it came to Hermione. "I took the report to the Minister for Magic this morning and he destroyed it," Harry confessed. "There is no evidence linking Draco to Francis McDougall's murder."

"Hmm," Hermione hummed. "Right, so how long has it been?" she asked, voice laced with venom.

"How long has what been?" Harry asked, clueless. He nervously ran his hand through his hair again.

"How long have you fancied blokes?" Hermione asked sharply, swinging her foot angrily, arms still crossed over her chest.

Harry was taken aback. He'd expected more of a reaming from her for losing evidence that could possibly convict Draco Malfoy. "Er—I guess I've always fancied blokes a bit," Harry admitted. "But I fancy girls too. It's just, Draco is different. We've always clashed, but when we're always drawn back together again and when we're close, it feels like I'm complete, if that makes any sense at all." He sighed heavily. "I only have five more days with him, 'Mione. Then I've promised to leave him alone for the rest of our lives. Please don't take this little bit of happiness away from me."

"Fine, Harry. I said before that you could have a week to yourself and I'll honour that promise, but I warn you to be careful. It's likely that you're dealing with a Death Eater scumbag that murdered innocent Muggles." She uncrossed her legs and stood up, dusting off her robes. She hadn't touched her tea.

"You know, 'Mione," Harry said. "Not all Muggles are innocent, but I don't want to talk about that right now. I want to get back to Draco. I'll see you when my time is up, all right?"

"All right," Hermione agreed. She opened the front door and Disapparated from the top step. 12 Grimmauld place's Fidelius Charm was still in effect, although it was severely weakened.

Harry poured the untouched tea down the sink and returned to Draco's house.

~*~

Now that there was peace and quiet in the house, Draco continued to write.

> "Zeke," Rhys said, panting against the pillow. "You are so incredible, I love you, you know that don't you?"

> Zeke responded by smiling against the back of Rhys' neck and murmuring, "Uh-huh."

> "I'm so glad that you're feeling better now. I can't imagine what we would have done if you didn't get well. I don't know how I would've got by if I'd have had had to go these past two weeks without having you."

> "Hey," Zeke said, raising his head and pressing his cheek against Rhys'. "I thought you loved me, you're not just in it for the sex are you?"

> Rhys cracked a grin and pushed his arse against Zeke's softening cock, wriggling. "Of course not. I love you, I just love becoming one with you too. It feels whole and--oh, I don't know, just so right."

It was coming out sappier than he had intended, but it felt right for the story he was telling: a romantic homosexual tragedy. He only hoped his publishing company would accept it, but decided he didn't give a damn if they didn't. He was writing this book for himself.

The bell rang again and Draco slammed his laptop shut and stamped to the door, still in his pyjama bottoms. His half-empty beer can and bottle of Firewhisky remained on the table next to his cigarettes.

It was Blaise and a beautiful young woman with long blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. Draco didn't spare her a glance. "What is it, Blaise? I'm trying to get a novel written and I keep getting interrupted."

Blaise seemed unfazed by Draco's rudeness. "May we come in?" he asked politely.

Not wanting to make another scene on his front porch, Draco opened the door and allowed them to pass. He led them to the lounge, where they took seats upon the sofa.

"To what do I owe the honour of a visit from you?" Draco asked, unsure whether or not the young woman was a witch.

Blaise smiled his charming smile. "I'd like to introduce you to your betrothed, Astoria Greengrass," Blaise said, a smirk playing on his lips.

Draco paled and then grew red in the face. How dare Blaise presume to bring the bint into his house? "May I speak with you in the kitchen, Blaise? We can make tea for your guest. Miss Greengrass, how do you take your tea?" Draco asked politely.

Astoria didn't take her eyes off Draco's naked torso. It made him feel self-conscious.

"Cream and two sugars, please," Astoria said in a sickeningly sweet voice. It made Draco want to vomit.

"Right," he drawled. "We'll be right back. Feel free to look around the lounge if you'd like." Draco's lounge was decorated with numerous curios, mostly of nude men. They stood on the mantlepiece, on several small tables and hung in paintings on the wall.

"Thank you," Astoria said sweetly.

Draco gripped Blaise by the elbow and nearly dragged him into the kitchen. "What business do you have bringing _her_ here? I thought I made it clear to you the last time you visited, I prefer blokes."

"Yes," Blaise answered, bored. "And Harry Potter in particular?"

Draco blanched. "How do you know about Potter?" he asked, heart hammering against his breastbone.

"I have my sources," Blaise answered cryptically. He pulled Draco's kettle out and filled it with water, then set it on the Muggle stove to boil.

"Damn you to hell!" Draco shouted. "Who do you think you are, dictating my life for me? I have an announcement to make. Astoria," he called. "May we see you in the kitchen?"

She practically floated over in her deep blue dress robes. "Yes?" she asked. "An announcement?"

Draco looked Blaise in the eye. "I'm living with him and I'm doing it because I like it. I like to fuck him and I like—"

"Draco!" Blaise chastised.

Astoria looked horrified. "Is this true? You're queer?" Her hands began to quiver and she clasped them together.

"Yes, it's true," Draco said. "Did either of you notice my decor in the lounge? How many straight men decorate in male nudes?"

"I thought it was artistic expression," Astoria said stupidly. "Blaise, this engagement is off. I will not marry a poof." She turned and left the kitchen and they heard the front door bang shut.

"Now you've done it," Blaise hissed. "I think I'll be able to salvage this, but you have to shape up. You'll never be accepted by the wizarding world unless you marry into society. I have to run and catch up with her." Blaise rushed to the front door. "This is not over yet," he called over his shoulder as the screen banged shut.

Draco shut and locked the door, vowing not to open it again that day. He returned to his laptop and downed the rest of his beer, then poured himself some spiked Firewhisky. He sat back down at his laptop and cleared his head.

> "I was kidding," Zeke said, pressing his hardening cock against the crack of Rhys' arse, tracing it up and down, smearing it with pearly pre-come. "But it's so romantic of you to say such things. I love you too," Zeke gasped.

> "Don't tell me you're ready for another go," Rhys said, lifting his head and looking back over his shoulder.

> Zeke leaned over to thrust his tongue awkwardly in their position into Rhys' mouth. He broke away with a flirtatious smile. "No, I'm just messing around, besides, I don't think I could take another pounding."

> They lay together in absolute bliss for the next hour, slipping in and out of sticky, sweaty, sleepy after-play.

After half an hour of drinking too much on an empty stomach and writing, Draco was feeling giddy and horny. He found he was looking forward to Harry's return and even walked outside a few times to see if Harry was walking up the road.

Harry knocked on the door an hour later and Draco, watching through the front window, rushed to answer it. As soon as Harry was inside, Draco tackled him up against the wall, bending down to demand entrance to Harry's mouth with his tongue. His bottoms were tented by his half-erect cock and he pressed himself against Harry, rubbing up and down his stomach, snogging heavily.

When he finally broke away to breathe, Harry looked at him curiously. "Draco, are you all right?" he asked.

"Never better… well, it could be better if we were in the bedroom," he said with a sincere smile.

"You're serious?" Harry asked.

Draco held him by the hips and began to gyrate their bodies together in a strange sort of dance. "I've never been more serious. I want you, Harry." Harry's name on his tongue didn't feel as foreign as he thought it would.

Harry groaned as Draco ground against him. "Draco, you're making this really hard for me," Harry said.

Draco grabbed Harry's arse and nibbled on his ear. "That is the idea," he whispered.

"No," Harry said, pulling Draco away to face him. Draco looked at him, confused. Didn't Harry want this as much as he did? "I'm falling for you, and if this is just sex for a week and then I'll never be able to see you again; I don't know that I can bear it."

A warm sensation rose up inside Draco, melting the last vestiges of ice around his heart. "I—I want you to stay," he said, voice a little shaky.

Draco looked down into Harry's bright eyes. "You do?" Harry asked, hopeful.

"Yes," Draco said, taking Harry into a bruising kiss. He really did want Harry to stay and it shocked him a little, but he was too aroused to think anything of it. He'd examine his feelings later. Right now, the most important thing in the world was to feel Harry's rippling heat surround his cock.

Harry toed off his shoes and socks and Draco led him to the bedroom. He pulled Harry's t-shirt off and let it fall, then grabbed him by the belt loops on his jeans and brought him closer, letting go and wrapping his arms around Harry's bare back. He felt Harry's hands, hot and dry against the skin of his own back, and relished the feeling of their chests rubbing together.

"You feel so good," Draco said. He lowered his head and took Harry's lips into another kiss, faces scratching against one another. Harry broke away and gazed lovingly into Draco's eyes, causing Draco's heart to flutter. He'd never felt so close to somebody before, having closed up his heart years ago, so he couldn't be hurt.

"Come to bed and take me," Harry said in a low, husky voice. Harry pulled out of Draco's embrace and let his baggy jeans and boxers fall to the floor. He stood, cock erect and pulsing from a black tangle of curls, bollocks hanging heavily beneath.

Draco's mouth began to salivate at the sight of Harry turning around and climbing onto the bed, giving Draco a clear view of his perfectly rounded buttocks and dusky pink pucker that Draco longed to fill. Harry positioned himself in the middle of the bed, arse up on his knees and elbows, inviting Draco to drink his fill.

Draco stood enraptured by the sight, scarcely believing that he could have found a partner and that it would turn out to be Harry Potter. He shook the disbelief from his mind and dropped his bottoms, then climbed onto the large white duvet behind Harry.

He gently pulled Harry's cheeks apart, opening him up, showing off his lovely pink hole, stretched open and winking. Draco lowered his face to lick at the rim and Harry's body shuddered beneath him.

Draco's cock twitched, hot and pulsing as he prepared Harry with his tongue, feeling out the smooth channel and pushing past the ring of muscle, loosening it. Harry moaned, his face pressed into the blankets, and wriggled back to meet Draco's lapping tongue.

Draco savoured the taste of man that Harry provided, an earthy, salty musk. He smelled so good to Draco that the pre-come leaking from his slit wept copiously onto the duvet below him. He rose up, Summoned the lube from the bedside table and filled Harry with the cold, slippery stuff. He set the jar at the foot of the bed and began to tease at Harry's opening with the head of his cock, rubbing in circles around the rim, before pushing inside.

Once there, Draco felt as if he had found a home at last. He felt as if he belonged for once in his life, that a missing fragment of his self had been located and replaced. He pulled back and pushed in, gasping at the sensation of Harry's gripping heat as it surrounded him.

"Ahh—ooo—yeah," Harry gasped as he met Draco thrust for thrust, pushing back into him. The feeling of Harry's bollocks bouncing against his threw Draco into a frenzy of slapping flesh and dripping sweat. He felt Harry's inner walls, rippling around his cock, caressing it, and it was brilliant.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," Draco chanted as he pounded Harry into the bed. He reached around and gripped Harry's cock, stroking it into full hardness..

"Draco," Harry gasped. "Let me turn over. I want to see your face when you come." Draco's heart flopped over in his chest at Harry's words. He withdrew and Harry turned over on his back, drawing up his legs and holding them behind his knees, so Draco could take him from the front.

"Oh, Merlin," Draco murmured at the sight of Harry's wanton body. His glasses had slipped from his face earlier and his expression was so open and full of adoration, that Draco nearly confessed love for Harry. He held himself back, wanting to be sure of these feelings that were so raw and new, that he barely recognised them.

He entered Harry again with a loud and contented sigh, loving the sensation of being encased in Harry's body, connected with him.

He stroked Harry in time with his rhythmic thrusts, watching as Harry turned his head this way and that and gripped madly at the bedding as if trying to stabilise himself. Draco sped up his thrusts as he felt the impending sensation of orgasm come over him. He stroked Harry faster, adding a twist at the end of each movement until Harry spilled hot semen over his hand and clenched down around his cock.

Draco gave a few more jerking thrusts and then was spilling his release into Harry's depths with a loud cry of Harry's name on his lips. He knew Harry was watching his face as he came, studying it, and it filled him with great pleasure to know that Harry wanted to see it, see him. He felt totally exposed and himself again after so many years; relief washed over him and he collapsed on top of Harry's body, sticky with perspiration and come.

Draco slipped out of Harry's body and Harry brought his legs up to circle Draco's waist. They kissed, rubbing rough faces into one another and filling Draco with such a feeling of completeness, he poured his longing to belong to Harry into his efforts.

"Draco!" Zabini's voice came from the lounge, carried in through the open bedroom door.

Draco lazily rolled off Harry and looked into his eyes. "Give me a minute!" he called to Blaise. "Wait for me?" he said to Harry, and Harry nodded up at him, smiling. Draco slipped off the bed and pulled his pyjama bottoms back on. He smelled of sex and sweat, but couldn't be arsed to care as he left the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Blaise and Astoria stood in the center of the lounge, dusting soot off their robes. Blaise looked up when Draco entered the room wearing a scowl.

"What do you want? My Floo is shut for a reason," he said bitterly, cursing Blaise for invading his privacy repeatedly.

Blaise looked Draco up and down, frowning. "Don't you own clothes any more?" he asked disdainfully.

"What is _she_ doing here?" Draco asked, inclining his face toward Astoria, completely ignoring Blaise's question.

"Saving your skin," Blaise said bitterly. He pulled a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ out of his pinstripe robes pocket and handed it to Draco.

"Hermione Granger has started a smear campaign against you," Blaise explained. "Apparently she found the Auror report of Francis McDougall's murder, and is publicly accusing you and exposing you as an impostor Muggle novelist. The only way I can save your reputation is to have you marry back into wizarding society and publicly defend yourself."

"No," Draco said simply, handing the _Prophet_ back to Blaise without even looking at it. "I won't return to the wizarding world and I won't marry a woman, especially one that can be bought," he said, pointedly ignoring Astoria's presence. "Granger has no proof that I murdered anybody; you've made sure of that, so I don't feel I need to defend myself. Let her burn herself out with her fit of jealousy and leave me out of it."

Harry came into the room looking fully shagged and disheveled. "What's going on in here?"

Blaise looked at him with fury in his eyes. "Potter, what are you doing here? I thought I told you to stay away from Draco!"

Harry cocked an eyebrow and looked at Draco.

"Blaise, he's my lover. You have no right to tell him that he cannot see me." Draco said angrily. He couldn't believe Blaise was trying to use his power as Minister in such a way.

"He told me that the only reason you even let him into your house was to repay a life debt. You don't have the capacity to love, Draco. I've known you for years. I don't want to see you get hurt again."

Astoria looked from Draco to Harry and back. "Blaise, I want to go home. The deal's off. I wouldn't marry him if you paid me a million Galleons."

Blaise looked panic-stricken. "No, Astoria, wait!"

Astoria gave everybody in the room a dirty look and took some Floo powder down from the mantel. She Flooed away.

"Now you've done it, Draco. She was your last chance at redeeming yourself in the wizarding community."

Draco's slate grey eyes flashed dangerously. "How many times do I have to tell you, Blaise; I'm not going back. Back off and let me live my life."

Blaise withdrew a piece of parchment from his robes pocket and held it up for Draco to see. "See this? It's the Auror report on Francis McDougall's death. I can make it go away, all I ask is that you come home."

Harry pulled his wand faster than Draco could blink. " _Incendio_ ," he called, setting the Auror report on fire. It curled up in Zabini's hand and he dropped it, trying to stamp out the flames. "How dare you try to blackmail Draco with his freedom! If you are a true friend and really care about him, you'll let him live his life the way he wants to."

Draco felt a great swelling in his chest. He shook his head. Harry never would get over his saviour complex, but Draco felt such affection for him for standing up to Blaise. "All right, Potter," Draco drawled. "There's no need to get mushy in front of Blaise."

Harry walked over to Draco and slipped his arm around his waist. "I think there is," he said, pulling Draco's face down for a chaste kiss.

Blaise threw up his arms. "Fine, I give up. Your mother's going to be devastated when I tell her about this though."

Draco held Harry by the waist as well and looked down into his emerald eyes. "I don't care. It's my life and I'll live it the way I want to," he said. "And that life includes Harry. I trust you can show yourself out?"

Blaise threw the _Prophet_ down on the coffee table. "Fine, but you're on your own as far as the Granger front is concerned. I can't do anything else to help you. All of the evidence is destroyed."

"Thank you, Blaise," Draco said looking back over to him. "You are a good friend."

Blaise shrugged. "Potter, you had just better not hurt him. You've caught yourself a winner."

"I know," Harry said, tracing the softer lines of Draco's lips. He smiled, facing his lover. "I have."


End file.
